Wil
by George Stark II
Summary: House/Wilson slash eventually. On his way to lunch on what should have been a normal day, Wilson gets a life-changing shock.  Takes place just *before* House had the brilliant idea to give himself untested drugs.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Yes, I'm back. Sort of. Okay, well I kind of have a summer job that takes up way more time than I could ever have imagined. And I'm also kind of cheating on House with another fandom (under a different username so you all don't get e-mails and get excited and then click on it and go wtf—this isn't house!). So between work and nonHouse writing and the Sims, which I've rediscovered, I don't really have much time. But since Housecards messaged me begging, I wrote down this idea that I had awhile ago. I don't know how often I'm going to be able to update, it's not going to be as long as _Engagement_ or some of my other stories, and the chapters themselves are going to be rather short, but...well...it's something. And it's a little bit different from what I usually write too :-)

**Summary:** House/Wilson slash (eventually). On his way to lunch on what should have been a normal day, Wilson gets a life-changing shock. Takes place just before House had the brilliant idea to give himself untested drugs, so that and everything after that never happened. Before "After Hours," I read something that said someone (without mentioning who) was going to be a daddy. I know it turned out to be Taub (x2, the idiot), but at the time I thought about how fun it would be if it were Wilson. Just a warning, I worry that House might be a bit OOC in this story. I mean, really, it can't be any worse than what the season finale gave us, and I don't really know that he _wouldn't_ act that way…but well you'll read it and judge for yourself, and if it's really that bad then I'm sorry and I hope you forgive me and enjoy the story anyway.

Wil

Wilson whistled as he signed his name and closed the file. It was Friday, finally, thank God, and for the first time he could remember he'd gone the entire week without losing any patients. There had been a scare on Wednesday with Veronica Ramsey, but thanks to an emergency hysterectomy, she'd pulled through. She was still under close observation and getting over the shock of never being able to have children, but at least the young woman was alive. Wilson had sat with her for a few hours last night, comforting her, talking to her about her options, and explaining to her that her chances for survival were greatly improved. She'd been one of the clingy ones, and had reminded Wilson quite a bit of Grace, but he knew nothing would happen. Not only had he sworn off seeing patients after the last disaster—she was too young for him anyway.

The whole incident did have him thinking about children again, though. The last time the subject had crossed his mind had been months ago, before Sam left, and he'd discussed it with her, though she hadn't exactly seemed interested.

For the longest time Wilson hadn't even known whether he wanted children or not. For the majority of his adult life Wilson had not had a stable home, nor enough time in his schedule to spend on a child. But he knew his time was running out. No, he wasn't a woman with a limited number of eggs; technically he'd have the ability to father a child until the day he died. But in order to become a father, he'd need to get married again, to a woman who not only wanted children but was still young enough to have them. That shouldn't be too hard, really; he'd always been able to attract younger women. Even his patient, Veronica Ramsey, was only twenty-nine and from the way she'd acted with him last night he was certain he could have an affair with her if he wanted to.

No, finding a woman wouldn't be a problem. _Staying_ with a woman would be the problem. Sure, if they had a child soon enough they would be more likely to stay together for the child's sake, but they might be miserable together and Wilson didn't want that. He wanted a _family_, two parents and a child who loved each other and could actually love each other for more than a year or two. And even if Wilson managed to keep himself from cheating on his future baby mama, he didn't know how long he'd be able to remain happy with her. Being sort of in love with House didn't really help matters. Women could _distract_ Wilson from his best friend and his attraction to him, certainly, and one of the reasons he'd been so anxious for Sam to stay was because she had been successfully doing just that. The problem was that the distraction never lasted. He always ended up growing bored with her and needing a new distraction. Which he found in the form of an affair. And when he couldn't stand being married to his wife anymore, he let her find out about the affair or just flat out told her. Before he knew it, he'd find himself alone again. So he turned to the one person that was always there, that always _would_ be there because he didn't have it in him to leave: House.

Instead of using women to distract himself from his feelings for House, he'd use House to distract himself from his problems with the women. He was always happiest then; House could always make him feel better about his life than any woman could even if they shared nothing more than a deep friendship. He'd let himself grow closer and closer to House because he knew he wanted to and couldn't help himself...and then right when things seemed as though they were about to turn into something more than friendship, he'd bolt.

He wasn't ready to deal with everything that went with being in love with a male best friend. He probably never would be.

Wilson didn't know whether House had similar feelings for him—he'd never allowed himself to push far enough to find out. There were days when House said certain things or looked at him certain ways and Wilson was _sure_ his best friend was in love with him. And then there were other days...House would do or say something that convinced Wilson that he was ridiculous, there was no way House could _possibly_ have those kinds of feelings for him. And of course, there was the fact that House loved Cuddy.

Not that it mattered what House felt; even if his feelings were the same as Wilson's nothing would ever become of them. Wilson wouldn't let it. Besides, how did House come up anyway? Wilson hadn't even been thinking of him—he'd been thinking of having a child.

Could he? Could it ever work out with a woman long enough to have and raise a child?

Surely, having a child would _help_ the relationship, wouldn't it? Wilson wouldn't need to distract himself with an affair because a child would provide as much of a distraction as anything. Even if he fell out of love with the woman he would never stop loving the child, of that Wilson was certain. He would throw everything he had into the well-being of the child. He would ensure he got a regular schedule at the hospital, that the child had plenty of love and attention. He would be there for soccer games and science fairs, he would help with math homework and give advice about girls or boys.

Yes, having a child would be able to keep Wilson from having to deal with his feelings for House and keep his home stable, wouldn't it?

But what if it didn't? What if, even with a child, everything still went wrong? What if Wilson still couldn't control himself and found himself cheating? What if it resulted in another messy divorce that left everyone feeling miserable? It wouldn't be fair to put a child through that, not if he could guess it was coming.

_You're thinking too far ahead_, Wilson told himself, shaking his head and straightening his files. _You're not putting any children through anything. You're not even seeing anyone right now_.

Of course, all this worry was ridiculous. Anything that would happen would happen one step at a time. He needed to meet someone first, and once he met someone he would need to see if she was interested in kids, and then they needed to fall in love enough that they wanted to get married. All of this would happen before Wilson even came anywhere close to having children. And surely, once he and a woman made it to the point where they were ready to get engaged, by then he should be able to determine whether or not they had a shot at having a stable home together. And if he thought they did have a shot, he would propose to her. If not, he would break up with her. And if they did decide to get married, there would be plenty of time to plan on having a family. This wasn't happening tomorrow.

Wilson felt reassured as he got up from his desk, stretched, and picked up his phone to page House for lunch. He would start making the effort to meet someone again...maybe he could ask out that cute new surgeon who'd kept smiling at him when she'd assisted with Veronica's hysterectomy the other day and congratulated him on the success afterward...she was certainly a possibility. Wilson put down his phone without paging House...he'd find her instead and maybe see if she was interested in grabbing a bite with him. He walked around his office desk and opened his door.

Standing in front of him, her hand poised in front of her as though to knock, a sigh in her face and so pregnant she looked as though she might give birth any second, stood Samantha Carr.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm hallucinating," Wilson deduced. That had to be it. There was no other explanation. He'd spent the last fifteen minutes thinking about having children, his old girlfriend couldn't be pregnant. It was too much of a coincidence. But why would he be hallucinating? The medication he was on didn't cause hallucinations, and he'd been feeling fine recently. Wilson closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. Sam was still standing there, and she was still pregnant. Very pregnant.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, furrowing her brow. "James, do you mind if I come in?"

He stepped aside, too shocked not to, and stared as she waddled into his office, sighing as she sat down on his sofa and put her purse down on the coffee table. "Sam, what...?" he said, staring at her, deciding that if she were a hallucination she wouldn't look so weary and defeated. Or so pregnant.

"I'm due any day now, the contractions have already started," she informed him. "We've talked about this." She looked up at him, her eyes cool. "I'm terrible with children, I've never wanted this. And after what happened..." She trailed off and sighed, looking at the floor. "...with us...I meant what I said about us being done for good this time." Sam put a hand on her giant pregnant belly that Wilson couldn't tear his eyes from. "It doesn't matter to me if you want to keep it or...give it up for adoption..." She shook her head. "It doesn't make a difference to me. I don't want any pictures, I don't want to know about its birthday or its first day of school, I don't...I'm not going to be a part of its life. I'm going to have it and then I'm going to go back home."

"Sam, slow down," Wilson interrupted, still staring. "This..." he tried to think backwards, do mental math, but his brain was swimming too much. "This is my child? You're sure? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't find out until after I left," she explained. "But I hadn't slept with anyone else yet and I never cheated on you..." He noticed the tone of bitterness in her voice even though the only cheating he'd done happened twenty years ago and he'd thought she'd gotten over it, considering she'd agreed to date him again this time around. "...so it couldn't be anyone else's."

"But you've known about it for...months! And now all of a sudden you just show up here about to give birth. Sam, we need to talk about this!"

"There's nothing to discuss," Sam contradicted, shaking her head so her usually full blonde tresses flapped in her face.

"What do you mean there's nothing to discuss?" Wilson demanded. "You're having my child and you could go into labor any day! We need to talk about what we're going to do!"

"There isn't any 'we,' James," Sam disagreed. "I've just told you what _I'm_ going to do—I'm going to have the child and then move on with my life. What _you_ want to do with it is up to you."

"Sam, you're not being rational," Wilson said, sitting on his sofa beside her and trying to take her hand. She rested it on her stomach to avoid his touch. "This your child, _our_ child. I know you were upset with me after what happened, but now..." He gently and hesitantly rested a hand on her stomach, feeling for the first time that it was real. Unless he'd been right and it was a hallucination, it was _real_. This was real. He was having a child. She squirmed slightly under his touch, but didn't back away or ask him to let go of her. "Sam, we could give it another try," he said, looking into her gray eyes. "This could bring us together like we've never imagined. And even if it still doesn't work out, there's joint custody to consider–"

"–James, there's nothing to consider," she cut him off, putting a hand on her back so she could heave herself off his sofa. "Don't think I'm making a rash decision—I've had six-and-a-half months to decide what I want and I _know_ this is what I want." She sighed and held her stomach. "And what I want is _not_ this child. I thought seriously about aborting it, but I just couldn't bring myself to. It has a chance at a good life, and I don't want to take that away from it."

"Yet you're willing to take its mother away from it," Wilson pointed out. He stood up and stepped closer to her. "See, Sam, you obviously care about the baby if you're willing to give it a chance at life."

"I care about it enough not to inflict myself on it," she said, turning away, and Wilson could see tears glistening in her eyes. "I've never wanted kids, I'd be a terrible mother–"

"–You don't know that," Wilson interrupted, stepping closer to her again and putting a hand on her arm. "No one knows what they're doing when they have their first kid and everyone makes mistakes. You learn as you go along. We'll learn together."

"No!" Sam shouted, wrenching herself from Wilson's grip. "'We' are not doing anything, James! Stop trying to talk me into keeping the child—I'm not doing it! I made this decision months ago, James!"

"Sam, clam down," Wilson said, genuinely concerned because she'd worked herself into a frenzy and he didn't want her to get this upset when she was so close to her due date.

"If you don't want the child, then give it up for adoption, James. A white newborn with biological parents that are doctors—there'll be a list a mile long of childless couples–"

"–Sam, I _do_ want the child," he cut her off, realizing it was true the moment the words tumbled out of his mouth. He thought they might have been the most honest words he'd ever spoken. An hour ago he'd vaguely wanted _a_ child, some child someday, concerned as he was for its future. But the moment Sam had said this child was definitely his, the moment it sunk in that he was going to be father, this child was already in existence (albeit as a fetus), he knew he'd never wanted anything more in his life. He wasn't even sure that he wanted House as much as he wanted this baby. "But it's _our_ baby, both of us should be there for it. If you hate me so much that you can't stand to have me in your life anymore, at least consider joint custody. Then it will still have two parents."

"No," Sam said, shaking her head. "For God's sake, James, if you've ever cared about me at all, respect this decision. I want no part of this child's life, I'd screw it up someh–"

"–No you wouldn't," Wilson objected. "Sam, you'd be a great–"

"–I'm not saying this because I want reassurance!" she shouted, tears in her eyes again. "I'm not trying to get you to talk me into it, I'm trying to _tell_ you that I don't want it. I don't want to be a mother, I don't want to screw up a child's life."

"Has it occurred to you that your not being there will screw it up?" Wilson asked.

"It's the lesser of two evils," Sam said, looking away. "Besides, I'm sure it will do fine with you as its father. You have a lot of faults, James, but even I can't deny that you're good with children. It will be fine."

"But this is _your_ child," Wilson said, his hands flying automatically to his hips. "You're going to just _abandon_ your child? You're not even going to give motherhood a chance?"

"Don't you try and guilt trip me!" she shouted. "You have no idea what it's like! You—!" She cut herself off with a moan, biting her lip and clutching her stomach.

"Sam!" Wilson shouted, rushing over to her. "Are you okay? Is something wrong with the baby?"

"It's just...a contraction," she murmured, holding herself and squeezing her eyes tight. "They've been happening for...hours."

"Do you want to sit down?" Wilson asked, taking her elbow. "Why don't we go to the front desk and get you checked in? We'll get you settled into a room and I'll get Kendra to come take a look at you."

"James, calm down," Sam said, letting go of herself and looking up at him.

"How many weeks are you?" he asked, not calming down. "When is your due date? How long have you been having contractions?"

"Thirty-nine, tomorrow, about twelve hours," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm a doctor too, James."

"So you know that this is your first child and you're almost forty," Wilson said.

"I've been taking excellent care of myself and there haven't been any complications," Sam said cooly. "In case you haven't forgotten, James, I'm in better health than most new mothers. I haven't been anywhere near an X-ray since the positive pregnancy test—which hasn't been easy, I might add."

"I still don't understand why you couldn't tell me about this sooner," Wilson sighed, shaking his head. "You've had months, and you wait until you're already having contractions. Didn't it occur to you that I might need some time to..." he stared at her giant stomach. It was hard to believe that so much had changed so fast. "...to process this?" he finished, catching her eyes again. "This is still surreal to me."

"Because I knew you'd do exactly what you did—try and talk me into keeping it. And I want to spend as little time having this argument as possible. I actually thought about waiting until it was born, but I didn't want to..." she trailed off, looking away.

"You really don't care about this child at all?" Wilson said, shaking his head. "You don't even want to spend a couple of days with it, giving it a chance."

"I'm doing this _because_ I care," Sam replied cooly.

"Give me a break, Sam," Wilson said, a mirthless chuckle escaping him. "You just said you never wanted kids—that's why you're doing this. It's a selfish choice because you don't want more baggage and a child is just baggage to you."

"I don't want kids because I know I'm terrible with them," she contradicted. "I'm doing this because it's best for the child _and_ for me. I–" Sam cut herself off again, suddenly staring down at the floor, though there was no way she could possibly see it over her bulge.

"What is it?" Wilson asked, taking a step toward her again.

"I think my water just broke," Sam whispered.

Wilson looked down and sure enough, her black maternity pants had a darker patch around her crotch and starting to trail down her legs.

With the practiced calm of a doctor, Wilson strode over to his desk and picked up his phone. "I need a wheelchair up here, please."


	3. Chapter 3

Sam moaned. "Goddamn, James, what is taking your kid so fucking long?"

"It's your first pregnancy," Wilson reminded her, holding her hand and stroking her sweaty hair. The former she did not object to—she squeezed like a vise during every contraction—but she tried to move her head away from his other hand.

"It's my _only _pregnancy," she clarified. Then she shouted as another contraction took over, and Wilson squeezed her hand back just to keep some blood flowing to his fingers. "There's no way...in hell..." she panted once it passed, "...I'm ever going through this again."

"Dr. Merchant should be in to check on you soon," Wilson reassured, stroking her hair despite her objections. "You should be fully dilated soon."

"'Should be'? Eighteen hours—I fucking _better_ be fully dilated!" This was said in a near whisper, but Wilson could tell that was only because she didn't have enough energy left to shout. Another contraction started, and Sam moaned with the effort. "I want to push," she said.

"I'm paging Dr. Merchant," Wilson said, grabbing his phone. "Just hold on for a few minutes, Sam, wait 'til she gets here and she'll tell you if you're ready."

"It's my body and I say I'm ready," she panted. "This kid is coming, James, and it's coming now!"

The delivery room door opened and Wilson looked up, relieved that Sam's obstetrician was finally here, but when the doctor entered he was surprised to see not Dr. Merchant, but House.

"What are you doing here?" both men asked at the same time, though in very different tones, but before either could answer Sam screamed as another contraction started.

House's eyes fell upon her for the first time, and Wilson saw them widen in shock before his head snapped back to Wilson. "What the hell?" he said over Sam's crying and whimpering and Wilson's whispers to hold on just a little longer. "Why didn't you tell me you knocked up your ex-girlfriend?"

"I just found out yesterday," Wilson said after Sam's contraction ended, though his eyes were still trained on her. "And I've been kind of busy since then. You didn't see anyone from the OB-GYN department out there, did you?" he asked impatiently. "Sam thinks she's ready to have the baby and Dr. Merchant hasn't answered my page."

"No," House muttered, looking at Sam in irritation. "Look, Wilson, I know that making the same mistake three times is what comes naturally to you, but even you should realize by now that not even a kid will make this relationship a good idea."

"There is...no relationship," Sam said through clenched teeth, still squeezing Wilson's hand even though she was between contractions. "I'm having the baby and then I'm leaving."

"We'll talk about it," Wilson muttered.

"There's no more talking," Sam said, shaking her head. Then another contraction started and she screamed louder than she ever had so far. "All right!" she screamed, squeezing Wilson's hand so hard his fingers were turning blue. "There are two doctors in this room and one of them better deliver this baby right now!"

"House," Wilson pleaded, looking up at his best friend. He would be more than happy to deliver his child himself if he he could wrench his hand from Sam's grip, but he didn't see that happening. "See if she's fully dilated. And if Dr. Merchant's not out there, could you get some nurses in here?" Then he turned back to Sam, stroking her hair again. "It's okay, honey," he whispered while House gave a long-suffering sigh before lifting the blanket and peeking between Sam's legs, "Just a little bit longer."

"Quit treating me like your wife," Sam said. "I've said it's over a million times and I'm not saying it again."

"Yeah, she's at ten centimeters," House commented as though he couldn't care less. Then he limped over to the delivery room door before opening it. "Need some help in here," he called down to the nursing station. "Woman about to give birth and all."

Sam moaned with another contraction while House calmly found a box of gloves and pulled two on, bringing the table with the birthing instruments over to the foot of her bed. "Don't you think you can move any faster?" she snapped, her glare somewhat weak because she was lying down, sweaty and exhausted with her legs open.

"Probably," House said as though it didn't concern him.

"Dammit," Sam said. "Where the hell is Carol? _She's_ supposed to deliver this baby, not your jackass friend."

"That's a relief," House commented, making to take his gloves off. "I've already had more of your vagina than I can stand."

"House!" Wilson reprimanded as the man in question smirked. The delivery room door opened again, and two hopeful faces and one indifferent face turned to look at it, but it was only a couple of nurses.

"You called for help?" one of them asked. "Is she having the baby? Where's her obstetrician?"

"MIA," House answered. Then he turned back to Sam. "You want to have this kid or not?"

"Yes!" the woman screamed, squeezing Wilson's hand even harder at the start of her next contraction. "Get this fucking thing out of me!"

The nurses stationed themselves around Sam and House sat in front of her. "You know you owe me _big time_ for this," he commented to Wilson before turning to the woman in labor. "All right, take a deep breath and push."

Wilson watched and counted to ten as Sam moaned and pushed before stopping to breathe again.

"You're gonna have to do it again," House told her. "In case you haven't noticed, the kid's still inside you."

"House, could you cut it out with the side comments?" Wilson asked, annoyed. "Don't you think this is hard enough for her?"

House rolled his eyes. "All right, again. Another deep breath, you're never gonna have this kid if you don't breathe. Then push. Hard."

Sam moaned and shouted, pushing and stopping and breathing and pushing until Wilson saw a little red head appear between her legs. "You're doing great, Sam!" Wilson screamed with joy. "The head's out—you're almost there."

"Another big push," House said, already cleaning out the baby's mouth. "And it will all be over."

Sam cried out, and then so did the baby. Wilson stared, beaming, at the blood-covered figure that House and the nurses were starting to clean off. "It's a boy," House commented. He caught Wilson's eye, saw his expression, rolled his eyes with a knowing smirk, and handed his best friend the scissors. Fortunately, the hand Sam had chosen to clench was his nondominant right hand, so he used his left to reach forward and snip off the umbilical cord.

Then House took the crying boy over to the table where he and the nurses weighed and measured him, fitted him with a hat and diaper, and wrapped him in a blanket.

"A boy," Wilson whispered, staring at his baby across the room. He couldn't resist placing a kiss to Sam's temple. "Sam, we have a son."

"_You_ have a son," Sam grunted. "And you can let go of me now," she added, taking her hand back.

Slightly put out, Wilson let go of her but didn't say anything.

"Is there anything else we can do?" one of the nurses asked House, who was holding the baby and staring at him. He shook his head and they left, one of them pausing to rub the baby's cheek gently on her way out.

"House, what is it?" Wilson asked, getting up from his chair and walking over to his best friend and his...son. The diagnostician was staring at the baby he'd just delivered as though he'd never seen one before. "What's wrong? Is something wrong? Is he okay?"

"He's fine," House muttered, tearing his eyes away from the baby and looking at the floor instead. "He's...yours." He handed the baby to Wilson, who cradled him in his arms and stared at him. His son was pink and wrinkled and the most beautiful creature Wilson had ever seen.

"Sam," Wilson whispered, taking the baby and walking over to his mother. "Sam, look at our son."

"No," Sam said, turning away and closing her eyes. "No, I don't want to see him, James. I don't want to hold him, I don't...I just want to sleep. You...take your baby and you hold him and bond with him. He's yours. I'm not going to be a part of his life, so there's not point in seeing him now."

"Sam, he's still your child. Just look at him."

"No." Her response was firm. "I'm not changing my mind. Please, just leave me alone, James. Let me sleep."

Wilson's shoulders slumped as he turned from his ex-wife to his best friend, perhaps with some ridiculous hope that House could talk some sense into her, but the other man was still looking at the baby in Wilson's arms. Possibly feeling the new father's gaze, House very slowly lifted his head and caught Wilson's eye. "She's right," he muttered quietly. "Take your son, hold him...whatever. Just leave here. If she changes her mind I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

Nodding, Wilson turned and walked from the room. He looked down at the tiny little baby and any disappointment he felt that his mother wasn't sharing this moment with them vanished when he saw the tiny face. An involuntary smile crept across his lips and he forgot for a moment where he'd been heading. He didn't need to be heading anywhere, really. His son was in his arms. What more did he need?


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** So in my word processor I made the list look like some were actually crossed off, but then FF wouldn't let me, so when you get there, just try to imagine it in handwriting and pretend the ones in bold aren't really bold, but have a line through them instead.

* * *

><p>Wilson didn't even really remember going to his office. He was completely shocked when his stomach growled and the clock on the wall showed two in the afternoon. His son was already six hours old? When did that happen?<p>

He heard a knock on his door and looked up to see Cuddy enter.

"Hi," she smiled, walking over to him.

"Hi," Wilson beamed, standing up. "Do you want to see him?"

"Of course I do," Cuddy chuckled, approaching the new father and son. "I'm sorry I couldn't get up here earlier—House only told me he was born a few hours ago and I've had a nonstop combination of meetings and crises since then."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you myself," Wilson said. "It...completely slipped my mind."

"Can I hold him?" Cuddy asked, and Wilson handed his son to her. She smiled down at him, rocking gently.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Wilson asked, twirling a lock of the baby's blond hair between his fingers.

"Yes, he is," his boss replied sincerely. She looked up from the baby to smile at Wilson. "Have you thought about what you're going to name him? Does Sam want a say?"

Wilson shook his head. "I have no idea...I've had no time to think about it. I don't know if Sam has any ideas about names or not. She was pretty tired after he was born, but I'll stop by her room again later. She said she didn't want to see him or hold him or anything, but I'm sure she'll change her mind once she's slept on it."

"You think so?" Cuddy asked, looking back down at the sleeping baby as she rocked him. "Between the snatches of conversation I got when you were checking in yesterday and what House told me...it sounded like you're getting sole custody."

"I'm afraid that's how it might turn out," Wilson sighed. "But if I could just get her to see him...I'm sure once she looks at him she'll want to be a part of his life, won't she?" Wilson asked, looking at Cuddy.

"I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you," Cuddy said in a warning voice. "Don't you remember when I first got Rachel? I didn't love her right away—and I wanted to. Not all women are cut out for motherhood. Sam said she doesn't want the child, and she carried him for nine months. By all means, bring him to her and try it, but I don't think seeing him now that he's born will change her mind."

Wilson sighed, putting a finger into his son's minuscule palm and feeling the firm grip this resulted in. What a miracle. "He's so perfect," Wilson whispered. "She's his mother. How can she possibly look at him and not love him?"

"I don't know," Cuddy murmured, handing Wilson's son back to him.

"I mean, you didn't love Rachel right away, but it only took you...what? A month? And besides, you didn't have any time to plan for her, she was already born before you even know about her. I..." he looked down at the miracle in his arms. "I didn't know about him until less than a day before he was born, but I loved him the instant I knew he existed. Sam's had months..." He trailed off, and for a moment neither doctor said anything.

Then Cuddy sighed and traced the baby's face with her finger. "Listen, Wilson, take as much time as you need. We can get your appointments rearranged, anything. He can stay in the nursery for as long as it takes to get your condo ready and decide on a name for him. I..." she chuckled. "I know as much as anyone what it's like to suddenly have a child to care for with no warning whatsoever. Anything you need, Wilson, anything I can do for you..."

Wilson smiled at her. "Thanks, Cuddy."

"Good luck," she said, and put a hand on his arm for a second before leaving.

Of course she was right, he would need some time off. And he would have to start with tomorrow—even if Sam did change her mind the child would still live with Wilson, he wouldn't have it any other way. And so he needed to fix House's old room, he needed to buy a crib and a stroller and a high chair and several mountains of diapers and clothes and formula...

"You're worth it," Wilson said to his son, bouncing him. The baby opened his bleary eyes to look at his father for a moment. Then he yawned and closed them again, going back to sleep. Wilson kissed his forehead as his stomach growled again.

Right. He really couldn't just sit here holding him all day, as much as he wanted to. With a sigh, Wilson went over to his office door and then headed for the elevators. He would drop his son off at the nursery, reluctant as he was to part with him. Then he would get himself some lunch before making a few shopping trips. To the hardware store for some paint and wallpaper, the baby store for furniture, clothes, and supplies, then to the wholesale club for diapers and formula, then dinner...and then right back to the hospital. Maybe he'd sleep on the sofa in his office or maybe he'd find an empty room like House sometimes did, but he certainly wasn't sleeping at home until his son could join him.

—

**Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital**

1182 Fairway Drive

Princeton, NJ 08544

**James Wilson, M.D.**

Oncology Department

* * *

><p>Name<p>

* * *

><p>Date<p>

* * *

><p>Address<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Rx<strong>

_**Samuel**_

_**Jameson**_

_Jordan_

_**Jackson** Jackson_

_Joshua_

_**Jacob**_

_**John**_

_**Jared**_

_Joseph_

_**Jeremy**_

_Jamie_

_Jonas_

_**Jay**_

_Jaden_

_**Jeffrey**_

_Jason_

* * *

><p>Wilson stared at his list and sighed. Why was this so difficult? It seemed like every time he crossed a name off his list, he just thought of a new one to add. Yet even of the names still on his list, none of them jumped out at him as what he should call his son. And he didn't want to choose a name by process of elimination. He should just...know.<p>

Samuel...it had seemed perfect at first, because Wilson had thought that maybe Sam would be willing to at least _hold_ the child if he was named after...but when he brought the baby back to her room the first night, she'd still refused to see him. And when he'd gone back the next morning for another try, it was only to discover she'd already checked out AMA. She wasn't answering her phone, and he didn't know where she lived or even worked now.

Wilson couldn't name his child after his mother. It would be too painful.

So instead he decided to name him after himself...sort of. He didn't want to call him James exactly, but he would retain the first initial. And there were plenty of names that started with J...so why couldn't he just choose one?

_Because I've only had two days to think about it_, Wilson answered himself. Another reason to be angry with Sam for not telling him sooner. Whenever he'd thought about having children and naming them, he'd always operated under the assumption that a) he'd have at least six months to think about it, and b) the baby's mother would have some ideas of her own and probably get the final word anyway. Since neither was the case now, he was finding this very frustrating. He didn't want to just pick a name—whatever name he picked, his child, his son would have to live with it for the rest of his life. That was a lot of pressure.

Wilson looked up as his door opened and House entered.

"Why are you at work?" House asked, heading straight for Wilson's sofa and plopping down. "If Cuddy told me I could take as much leave as I wanted I might never come back."

"I can't set up his room until the paint dries," Wilson muttered, still contemplating his list. "Besides, I'd rather be here than home right now—this is where _he_ is, so I can go down and see him whenever I want, hold him and feed him. It would feel weird just sitting home and not having him there." Wilson honestly expected House to scoff or make some sort of snarky comment that involved calling Wilson pathetic...but he didn't. Wilson looked up from his name list and was surprised to see an odd sort of smile on House's face. Well, really, any smile other than a smirk on House's face was odd unless he was laughing, which wasn't very often at all. But even for someone who smiled often, this particular expression would have been considered odd. Contemplative, maybe? Knowing? What was House thinking?

"So you still don't have a name for him?" House asked, his expression returning to normal as he turned to Wilson.

"No," Wilson sighed, looking at his list again and resisting the urge to crumple it into a ball. "I mean, I _like_ the names I've picked out, but I don't _love_ any of them. None of them seem worthy for..." Another reason it was frustrating not to have picked one yet. "...for my son."

House got up and stood behind Wilson, peering at the list over his shoulder. "Wilson, I delivered the kid, so I can say with absolute certainty that he's a dude. Jamie is a chick's name."

"It can be a boy's name too," Wilson argued, but he crossed it off his list nonetheless. Though he couldn't see him, he swore he could _feel_ House smirking behind him.

"Well, I've got better shit to do than this," House said cheerfully. "Have fun with this life-changing decision, Wilson."

Wilson glared moodily at the door that slammed behind him. He crumpled up his name list and threw it in the trash, then recovered it, grabbed his prescription pad, and copied down the few names he hadn't yet crossed off.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** This is the chapter where I think House might be a bit OOC…but I really like this scene and I think it could happen…possibly. Again, bold means crossed out.

Everything was ready. Well, as ready as he thought it could be, given the circumstances. House's old room had been given a fresh coat of paint and some cute wallpaper and had been filled with baby supplies. A rocking chair sat in the corner and a high chair sat in the kitchen. Wilson had purchased his weight in diapers, baby formula, and newborn and 0–3 month-sized clothing. He'd bought a library of baby books and made his neighbor's daughter happy by subscribing to several parenting magazines. He'd called his rabbi to set up a briss. The baby was six days old and developing just as he should be. Everything was ready for him to come home.

Except that the poor child still didn't have a name. Wilson just couldn't commit to one. He'd made three new lists and perused books and Web sites, but nothing stuck out as what he wanted to call his son for the rest of his life.

_This is so stupid_, Wilson told himself for the zillionth time. His son was coming home tomorrow—he needed a name. And Wilson was sure that whatever name he gave him, the child would go through phases of liking it, hating it, loving it, and accepting it just like every other person in the world.

But which one to pick?

**Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital**

1182 Fairway Drive

Princeton, NJ 08544

**James Wilson, M.D.**

Oncology Department

* * *

><p>Name<p>

* * *

><p>Date<p>

* * *

><p>Address<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Rx<strong>

Jordan

Jackson

**Jonas**

**Joseph**

Joshua

Jason

Wilson stuffed the prescription-turned-name list into his pocket and got up from his chair. He would go down to the nursery and spend some time just looking at his son. He would think each name over while looking at the baby and decide which was the most fitting for him.

On the elevator down to the second floor, the surgeon he'd considered asking out before all this had happened when she offered her congratulations and the apology that she hadn't been able to do so sooner. He smiled at her. He was sure she'd agree to lunch or dinner if he asked, but he wasn't going to anymore. He wouldn't have time for dating, anyway, with the new baby. And he didn't even feel the need for it anymore, at least not now while the baby was so new. Wilson was sure that in time he would get more accustomed to the baby's presence in his life, get himself stuck in a rut, and want to try dating again...but that time wasn't now. Besides, he still loved House anyway, and though he would probably date again one day just for the hell of it, when he was honest with himself he knew that it would be useless because he couldn't love anyone except his new baby as much as he loved House.

And speaking of House...

Wilson furrowed his brow as he opened the door to the nursery. House was standing there, a few rows ahead of Wilson with his back to him, at what Wilson was sure was his son's bed. His cane was leaning against the plastic side of the bed and his elbows stuck out from the side of his body as though he were holding something. As though he were holding the baby. What was he doing here?

House hadn't turned around when Wilson walked in—a code blue page had sounded at the same moment the oncologist opened the door and it must have covered the sound. For a moment Wilson considered announcing himself, but then he heard House talking and changed his mind. Curiosity won out.

"I don't like your mom, kid, there's no doubt about that," House was saying, his arms moving back and forth slightly as he...yes, he was rocking the baby. "But I know why she did what she did and I respect her for it. You'll be much happier with your daddy raising you than you ever could be with her, and the two of them together is just a recipe for disaster." House was quiet for a second before he continued. "He's a good guy, you know, your dad. Well, you don't know yet, but you will. I wouldn't have dug into that bitch's twat for anyone else."

Wilson folded his arms and almost announced himself then and there, but House proceeded and his next words both stunned Wilson into silence and forced him to keep quiet because he wanted to hear more.

"You're worth it, though," House murmured as though it was the most casual thing in the world. "You know, who would have thought I could ever love anything that came out of _that_? I didn't expect it when I delivered you, you know. It was just a favor to Wilson. And I didn't even really think about the fact that you were his too. Of course, for all I knew at the time she could have been lying about that—I wouldn't put it past her to try and force some stranger's baby onto Wilson." He just rocked him for a second. "You came out and I didn't really give two shits. Just another baby, just another person that the world doesn't need. Hey, don't blame me, Will, I didn't know you were _you_ yet," he said.

_Will_? thought Wilson. _Why is he calling him Will?_ Will was short for William, a name that had never even been on Wilson's list. Why had House started calling the baby that of all things?

"Then you opened your eyes," House muttered, so softly that Wilson almost didn't hear him. "And let me tell you something, Will, you have no idea how weird it is to look at some screaming baby you just delivered and see your best friend staring back at you."

Wilson held his breath. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. He'd never heard House talk to anyone this way. If he hadn't seen the man standing in front of him and knew that it was his voice, he wouldn't have believed it.

"So now, of course, I've gotta love you," House said. "It's not like I had a choice in the matter or anything. You think I would have chosen to love anything that has half its DNA from the harpy that broke my best friend's heart twice? Nah, it wasn't up to me, Will. It doesn't change the fact or anything," he added. "You should be honored, you know. The People That Gregory House Loves is a very exclusive club whose members I could count on one hand. Keep that in mind, Will."

Wilson cleared his throat and House spun around. "How long have you been standing there?" he demanded.

"About ten seconds," Wilson lied, rolling his eyes. He walked up to House and the baby. "Why? What kinds of private conversations can you have with a neonate?"

"Hey, they're the best to tell all your secrets to," House said, handing the newborn to his father. "They don't squeal on you."

Wilson smiled, tracing his son's angelic face. "I did hear you call him Will," Wilson admitted, looking at the baby instead of the doctor. "Where did you get that name from?"

"It's short for Wilson," House said with a shrug. "I know you're so indecisive you haven't chosen a first name for him, but I assume even _you_ made up your mind about his last name. There can't be two Wilsons, and since he's a short Wilson, he gets a short Wilson name."

Wilson smiled genuinely at House, who rolled his eyes at the gesture. "So it's one L, then," he said.

"Unless I've been spelling your name wrong for the last twenty years and you've just been too polite to correct me."

The new father chuckled and beamed down at his baby. "I was confused at first, I thought you meant Will with two Ls, like short for William."

"Why the hell would I name your kid William of all things?" House asked.

_My kid that you love?_ Wilson couldn't help thinking, but he kept it to himself. House didn't need to know he'd witnessed that part. "I like the name Wil," Wilson said. He looked at his pink blond baby, wrapped in a blue blanket with elephants on it. "I think it's fitting."

"Of course it's fitting," House said. "Because it's short for _Wilson_, which he is."

"Wil," Wilson cooed to the baby, who opened his brown eyes and looked up at his father. Wilson smiled down at him.

"Earth to Wilson," House said, snapping his fingers in his friend's face. "The 'Wil' refers to his _last_ name. He still needs a _first _name."

"And I can't call him Wil to refer to his last name because it's my last name," Wilson added sadly. "Hmm," he murmured. "I like the name, though. Well...why don't I just name him William and call him Wil for short?"

"William Wilson. Catchy," House said.

Wilson chuckled. "He'll need a middle name, I guess." He looked at House and couldn't keep the grin off his face. He felt such a love and affection for him…and in that moment he wanted to name his baby for him. Not his first name—he'd fallen in love with _Wil_ and thought it suited the infant perfectly—but his middle name. _Greg_ would be too obvious and House would never let him live it down, but maybe something that started with G?

The first name that popped into Wilson's head was one he'd seen while flipping through the name book last night: Gavin.

Wilson knew there were many other names that began with G, but he didn't want to spend another week trying to choose one. _William Gavin Wilson_, Wilson thought. That worked. Gavin broke up the two Wils of William and Wilson nicely. It was two syllables just like the other names, and it ended with n just like Wilson (and William ended in m, which was close enough).

"William Gavin Wilson," Wilson said, looking up from the baby to smile at House. "That's what I'm going to call him. Wil for short."

"Gavin?" House said. "How'd you come up with that of all names?"

"I saw it in the name book," Wilson said, trying to keep any defensive tone out of his voice.

House just rolled his eyes. "The poor kid's gonna be so confused. With you calling him Wil as short for William and with me calling him Wil as short for Wilson…he won't know what his name is."

"No," Wilson contradicted, cradling him. "He'll be special because his nickname will have a twofold purpose. He'll be able to brag about it to all his friends."

House chuckled softly and Wilson smiled. "Wil," he said softly. "How do you like it?"

Wil yawned and put his thumb in his mouth. Wilson grinned at him, then up at House. "Everything is ready now," he said. "His room, all his clothes and books and toys and everything, his car seat and stroller are in my car, I've got plenty of formula…all he needed was a name and now he has one. Wil. Wil, you're coming home tomorrow," he said to the sleeping infant. "Aren't you excited? You'll get to see your new home and your new room and everything."

"He looks stoked," House commented and Wilson laughed.

"Well, _I'm_ excited," he said. He kissed Wil's forehead and placed him gently back down in the baby bed, where he yawned again before sticking his thumb back in his mouth. Wilson stepped back and smiled at his son. House took the blue card reading, 'It's a boy!' out of the front of the bed, grabbed a pen from Wilson's breast pocket, and leaned down to cross out 'Baby Boy Wilson,' and replace it with 'William Gavin Wilson (Wil).' He put the card back in its pocket and also took a step back, nodding.

For a moment the two men just stood there, silently watching Wil sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I know it's been a month since I updated, but I haven't given up and I haven't forgotten about this. To those who have PMed me about updating, I appreciate the fact that you like it enough to want me to continue, but I've had more important things to do recently than write for House. I have never left a story uncompleted before and I'm not about to start now. I made no promises about how often I would update and I would really appreciate your patience. It probably won't be a whole month between updates next time, but I haven't written the next chapter yet and I don't know how long it will be.

* * *

><p>Wil had been home for about nine hours when Wilson decided that having a newborn at home was much more difficult than having a newborn at the hospital. Here there were no nurses to take care of him, and even though he spent more time sleeping than anything else, when he cried Wilson had to do something about it and wasn't always sure what. Especially when his diaper was clean and he wasn't interested in the bottle. He eventually cried himself out and fell back asleep, but Wilson fretted because he was worried he'd overlooked one of his needs. He put Wil in his crib and tried to relax with one of the baby books, but couldn't concentrate. The baby monitor was on the coffee table and turned to the highest volume (even though Wilson knew he would be able to hear Wil crying from down the hall anyway).<p>

The doorbell buzzed, jolting Wilson out of the doze he had no idea he'd fallen into. He hurriedly picked up the monitor, but all was quiet in Wil's room. Then he got up, stretched, and opened the door to let House in.

"How's fatherhood treating you?" House asked, stepping into the condo. "Gone crazy yet?"

"He's been very good," Wilson said, crossing his arms and feeling grateful that he'd already changed out of the shirt Wil had spit up on.

"Broughtcha something," House said, holding up the twelve-pack of Guinness he'd brought with him.

"House," Wilson said, "I can't drink, I have a new baby to take care of."

"Oh, sorry," House said. "You should have told me you were breastfeeding—I would have brought Coke instead."

Wilson rolled his eyes and took the beer, putting it on the kitchen island.

"So what's for dinner?" House asked cheerfully.

Wilson hadn't even thought about eating. He hadn't even realized he was hungry until House suggested it. "You know where the takeout menus are," Wilson said with a shrug. "And you know my credit card number. Whatever you want."

House had already whipped out his cell phone. While he ordered Wilson went into the bedroom to go check on Wil. The baby was asleep but Wilson could smell that he needed a diaper change.

"What'd you do with all my stuff?" House complained, entering the room just as Wilson was finishing up.

"Storage," Wilson said, picking Wil up and rocking him. The baby had started crying, not appreciating being woken up from his nap. House went over to his crib and dug around for his pacifier. Wilson stared as he stuck it in Wil's mouth, and then poked the baby's tiny fist so it curled around his finger. House's beautiful blue eyes stared into Wil's giant brown ones, and Wilson almost felt like he was witnessing a private moment between them. He thought about what he'd eavesdropped on yesterday. House had explicitly said he _loved_ Wil, right out loud. Those weren't words often heard from Wilson's best friend. He'd only said them to Wilson once, and Wilson wasn't even sure how much he'd meant it that time.

But he loved Wil. Wilson could see it. He could see it in the way he looked at the baby, the way he touched him. He recalled the way House had stared at him right after he'd been born, and the odd expression on his face when Wilson had admitted to not wanting to sleep at home while Wil was in the hospital.

"Hold him," Wilson said. He wasn't sure House would admit to wanting to if Wilson simply offered, but if he just told him to he would. "I'm going to go prepare his formula before our food gets here."

"Okay," House said quietly. Wilson carefully settled his son in House's arms, kissed his forehead, and went to the kitchen. He couldn't resist turning around in the doorway and sneaking a peek at his best friend holding his son. The sight brought an involuntary grin to his face.

—

Wilson woke up to the sound of Wil's cries over the baby monitor. He glanced at the clock and saw he'd only been asleep for about an hour. He'd fed Wil before he went to bed—the baby shouldn't be hungry again already. Maybe he needed a diaper change?

Rubbing his face with his hand to wake himself up, Wilson yawned and got out of bed. "Coming, Wil," he mumbled even though he knew his baby couldn't hear him. He dragged himself to the second bedroom and stopped short when he saw House already standing in front of Wil's crib and holding him.

Wilson had known that House was sleeping over—he'd invited himself in spite of Wilson's warnings that the baby would wake him up several times in the middle of the night—but he never expected the other man to actually get up and go take care of the crying infant. He'd have been less surprised if House had actually come into _his_ room with the announcement that his son was crying as though Wilson couldn't hear it himself.

But there he was, cradling Wil and hushing him gently.

"I know I'm not your daddy, but you might as well get used to me anyway," House was murmuring to him. "I'm gonna be around a lot. Now your diaper's fine and you just ate, so I don't know what you're complaining about." Wil was already quieting down and Wilson smiled. "That's a little bit better," House said.

"He likes you," said Wilson, walking up behind House, who turned around to catch his eye.

"'Course he does," House said. "He's half-Wilson. He's hardwired to like me."

Wilson chuckled. "Why'd you come in here?" he asked gently. "I had the monitor; I would have gotten him."

House shrugged, turning away again as he rocked the baby. "I was already awake, anyway. Couldn't sleep."

"Hmm," murmured Wilson. Though he knew House had trouble sleeping, he still wouldn't have guessed his friend would voluntarily go take care of the baby, even rock him and talk to him. It was still almost hard to believe that House had said those things yesterday, that House could fall in love with an infant. Wilson knew that his best friend wasn't as callous and cold-hearted as everyone thought he was—he didn't think he'd be in love with him if he was—but it was still weird to see House, who had never liked little kids, especially babies, being so gentle and tender with his son.

_Because he loves him_, Wilson reasoned. Of course House would want to take care of Wil because he loved him.

But why did he love him? What made Wil so special? House had never shown this much interest in Rachel, not even when he was dating Cuddy. He'd gotten along with her fine, taken care of her when he needed to, and tried to get her into a preschool to make Cuddy happy, but Wilson had never believed that he'd actually _loved_ the little girl.

He remembered what House had said yesterday about loving him once he'd looked into his eyes and seen that he was Wilson's...it was true that Wil had exactly his father's eyes; Wilson had noticed it himself. Since Cuddy had adopted Rachel, the girl obviously looked nothing like her mother, but Wilson didn't really think that was why.

Could it...possibly be...because Wil was Wilson's child? The idea sent his heart racing. Did he love Wil just because he loved Wilson, because Wil was a part of Wilson?

He should love Rachel, too, then, because he loved Cuddy. Rachel was as much Cuddy's daughter as Wil was Wilson's son even if they weren't biologically related. Unless...unless House loved Wilson more than he loved Cuddy.

Wilson stared at his best friend, feeling his heart in his chest. Was it possible? Were these feelings that Wilson had harbored for so long reciprocated? Did House love Wilson...as much as Wilson loved him?

"What?" House said, turning his head to catch Wilson's eye. He realized he had been staring.

"Nothing," Wilson murmured, taking a step closer and reaching around House's tall frame to touch one of Wil's tiny fists. The minuscule fingers wrapped around his digit automatically and Wilson smiled. He took another step closer, nearly touching House's back with his chest, extracted his finger from his son's grip, and rested his palm on the soft blond head. Wil cooed and yawned and Wilson smiled, relaxing his touch and accidentally brushing House's elbow with the side of his arm. He was close enough to rest his head on House's shoulder, if he wanted to and if he thought the other man wouldn't have an objectionable reaction. As it was, he was almost surprised House didn't shift his stance so their arms were no longer touching. But he didn't. Wilson could just barely feel the warmth of House's arm against his, but he could feel it.

House, whether accidentally or on purpose (though Wilson knew that House did almost nothing accidentally), rocked Wil to the right so that the contact between the two men was even more established. Wilson realized that he was more aware of his best friend's presence than his son's and tried to shift his attention back to the baby. But it was difficult. He wasn't accustomed to this level of proximity between House and himself, and his mind kept flicking to the fact that they were standing so close.

"I think he's asleep," House murmured eventually, though he made no move to return the newborn to his crib.

"I think you're right," Wilson whispered. He still held the infant's head, still rested his arm against his best friend's elbow. He didn't want this moment to end. He was in a room with the two people he loved most in the world, he was so close to them. Wilson wanted to hold on to this, to have it forever.

"Tomorrow," Wilson whispered, stroking his son's thin hair lovingly, but carefully enough so his arm wouldn't slip away from House's, "I'm taking him to the synagogue to get circumcised. I'm not making a big deal of it or anything, it'll just be us and the rabbi, but...I'd like you to be there."

House was a long time in responding. If House were anyone else, Wilson would think the other man was trying to think of the gentlest way to let him down. But of course, Wilson knew that if House wasn't interested he'd just say so—possibly even go so far as to mock Wilson for asking. He half-expected this to be the case, and as such, the waiting was rather disconcerting.

"Okay," House said eventually. He readjusted his hold of the baby and walked the few steps over to the crib, breaking contact between them. Wilson just stared, half in surprise, as House laid the infant down on his back and rested the safari-themed blanket over his tiny body. He took his cane from where it rested against the crib and proceeded to exit his old bedroom and return to the living room couch. "Go to bed, Wilson," he commented as he passed him. "You look like crap."


	7. Chapter 7

Wilson was surprised by House's good behavior at the synagogue the next day. True, the moment they were in the car on the way back, he began making fun of the rabbi's accent and outfit, causing Wilson to giggle in spite of himself, but during the actual ceremony he'd been very good. He hadn't participated, but Wilson hadn't expected him to, and he'd just stood quietly off to the side, watching.

The next afternoon, Wilson decided it was time to give his parents a call. He usually called them every Sunday, just to talk, or to update them if anything new and interesting was going on in his life. Last weekend, however, it had completely slipped his mind with the newness of Wil, and he hadn't had much time during the past week either.

With Wil sated and sleeping after an afternoon walk around the block, House settled on the couch with a beer and a ball game, and dinner in the oven, Wilson sat down with his phone and took a deep breath, trying to think of the best way to inform his parents that they had a grandson. He tried to ignored the smirk on House's face, listening to his side of the conversation as he fumbled over his words, trying to explain what happened and why he was only telling them now. Before long, he was caught in a debate with his mother whether they would stay with him, or in a hotel, while Wilson's father booked them the next flight down to come visit.

"Mom, there's going to be a crying baby here," Wilson pointed out, furrowing his brow and rubbing the back of his neck. "Won't you be much more comfortable in a nice, quiet hotel?"

"Don't be ridiculous," his mother responded. "A newborn and no mother to help? We're staying, James, at least for a week—maybe two. How could you keep this from us? A grandson, we have a grandson!"

"I know, dear," Wilson's father's voice came from a distance. "You told me."

"Mom, I just told you," Wilson sighed. "She sprung it on me, I was just as surprised as you are. I didn't even know Wil existed until eighteen hours before he was born."

"Which was over a week ago," Mrs. Wilson said again.

"I know," Wilson sighed. "And as you've just said—taking care of a newborn without his mother to help me—I've been a bit busy. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, all right?"

Fortunately, that seemed to satisfy her—that and the fact that her husband found a flight for the next morning, and Wilson grudgingly hang up with the prospect of another two unexpected (though not entirely unwelcome) houseguests in addition to the ones he already had. It wasn't that he wasn't looking forward to seeing his parents, and he knew his mother was right about the fact that he could use the extra help, but he also knew that House wouldn't want to stay with him anymore if his parents were—and there wasn't any room for him anyway, unless he shared Wilson's room. Wilson blushed at the idea. He thought about the way he'd let his arm linger against House's in Wil's room the other night, and the way House had let him. It hadn't been much, but it had been more contact between them than was usual. He wondered if it would happen again and made a conscious decision to try, to find an excuse to touch House and see if his best friend rebuffed him...or welcomed him.

"So, Mommy and Daddy are coming to visit, huh?" House said, interrupting Wilson's thoughts. "How long?"

"Hopefully just a week," Wilson sighed. He forced a smile. "It should be all right though. Unlike you, if Mom notices that Wil needs a diaper change, she'll probably just do it herself rather than waiting for me to come do it."

"You always come in the room anyway, every time he cries," House pointed out. "What's the point of subjecting myself to baby shit if someone else'll do it for me?"

"You're a doctor," Wilson laughed. "You've seen worse."

"Only when I didn't have a choice," House argued, taking a drink. "Now I have a team—I get to sit in my office and make all the executive decisions while they deal with all the nasty bodily fluids that come from being sick."

"Except when you have to work clinic," Wilson pointed out, smiling at him.

"Which is why I avoid it as much as possible," House concluded, settling back on the couch and turning his attention back to the TV.

Wilson also watched the rest of the game, and when it ended, he decided it was time to heat up a bottle for Wil. As he was getting up, a cry from the other room signaled Wil's agreement with this idea. Wilson smiled to himself as House heaved himself off the couch and made his way to the bedroom.

"What are you smirking at?" House demanded, looking at Wilson as he passed.

"I'm just surprised that you're going to get him, without me even asking you to," Wilson answered, continuing into the kitchen. "At night is one thing—you're closer, and if you're already awake, it makes sense for you to go in his room, even if you know I'm right behind you. But now you're going out of your way to–"

"–If you're gonna make a big deal about it," House interrupted over the crying coming from the next room, "I won't bother." He made to turn back to the couch.

"No," Wilson said quickly. "Go get him. I need to get his bottle ready anyway...unless you'd rather heat up the bottle while I get him."

"I'm not heating up his bottle," House said. "What if I make it too hot and screw the whole thing up?"

Wilson knew that House knew he wouldn't give Wil the formula without testing it on his wrist first to make sure it was okay, but he decided not to argue. He turned back to the refrigerator to get the preprepared formula and heat it up while House continued into the baby's room.

Wil stopped crying after a few minutes, and House appeared with him just as Wilson decided the formula was warm enough. The new father smiled at his best friend carrying his baby into the living room, and the fact that Wil was not only no longer crying, but had one of his tiny fists curled around House's long finger.

"Sit down," Wilson said, smiling and approaching the pair. "You should feed him, House; you've been hanging around here for three days but haven't fed him yet."

"No," House objected. "I've never fed a baby except for through an IV line—what if he chokes or something?"

"He's not going to choke," Wilson said. "I'll be right here, sitting next to you. Nothing bad is going to happen; even if you did manage to find a way to screw it up, I wouldn't let you."

"But he's your kid," House muttered, looking at Wil instead of Wilson. "Isn't that kind of your thing? Isn't he new enough that you still want to bond with him or whatever whenever you can?"

"I've got plenty of time to bond with him," Wilson said softly, taking a step closer. "But considering how much time you spend here, I think it's a good idea that you do the same."

House didn't say anything else. He carried Wil to the sofa, limping slowly with his cane over his elbow so that he could carry Wil. He settled down carefully on the right cushion, making sure to support Wil's head throughout the transition from standing to sitting, and Wilson sat down gingerly beside them, on House's left, with the formula in his hand.

Once House released his captive finger from Wil's grip and adjusted his arms to a position most conducive to feeding, Wilson removed the pacifier from his son's mouth (eliciting a slight whimper) and handed the bottle to his best friend. House gave Wilson a fleeting look before bringing the bottle to Wil's mouth.

"Make it a more downward angle," Wilson advised, putting his hand over House's on the bottle so that the nipple and neck were filled with formula. He knew House would have gotten the idea without the physical guidance, but it was a perfect excuse for the contact, and Wilson enjoyed the warmth of House's hand beneath his. He held on for as long as justifiably possible, and still leaned close even after letting go.

He stared into his baby's enormous brown eyes—exactly the same color as his own—as the infant sucked down the milk. Suddenly, Wilson was struck with a thought: if he'd actually gotten Sam to agree to try raising the baby together, to maybe even give things between them another shot, it would be her sitting beside him right now instead of House. Wil wouldn't be sucking on a bottle of formula with his beautiful eyes flicking between Wilson and House's faces; he would be sucking on Sam's breast with all his attention focused on her. He'd be bonding with her, not Wilson or House. House wouldn't even be in the picture. Even if he had elected to visit at some point, he certainly wouldn't have spent the last three days here.

Wilson smiled and thanked Sam in his mind. If he had to be sitting next to someone on the sofa, watching that someone feed his Wil, in all honesty he'd rather have it be House next to him than Sam. He shifted his body to angle more toward House and Wil, and leaned closer. He adjusted the soft, pale blue material of Wil's onesie, even though it didn't really need adjusting, just to be closer to both of them. For a moment, he rested his hand on Wil's chest, feeling his rapid heartbeat, before withdrawing again. On his hand's way back to the side of his body, he accidentally brushed House's knee, and in a split second's decision, he opted to keep his hand there.

Wilson's heart pounded as the seconds passed and the contact between them remained with no obvious reaction from House. He was still leaning close—their shoulders were nearly touching as well—and the contact would have been as casual as anything if it hadn't been for the fact that…well…he and House almost never touched. And never for more than a few seconds. He stared at Wil, afraid that looking at House might cause the other man to speak up, to ask for an explanation of the action that didn't really have an excuse. Keeping his eyes trained on his son, Wilson noticed that House had shifted the angle of the bottle a bit too far after Wilson had let go, and was now holding it nearly vertically to Wil's mouth.

Almost automatically, Wilson took his free hand—the one not on his best friend's knee—and put it on House's on the bottle again, murmuring, "not that much," without looking at his best friend. He wondered whether House had even noticed what he was doing, wondered if maybe the hand on his knee was distracting him from his task. Then he wondered if he was distracting House in a good way or a bad way. If he was bothering House, he would have said something by now, wouldn't he? Why hadn't he said anything? He hadn't moved, either. Any time Wilson had been hit on by someone he wasn't interested in (which, admittedly, was not very frequently), he always shifted his body away from the touch, often without even thinking about it. Yet, House hadn't moved his knee nor his body in the slightest. He hadn't given any indication that he even noticed the touch.

The feeding continued, and eventually, Wilson began to relax. If House didn't like something, he let the world know, and Wilson decided that if he didn't want his friend touching him that way, he would have done something about it by now. Instead, the older man continued to quietly feed the baby, adjusting the bottle every now and again to make sure it was at the proper angle. Wilson continued to watch and make sure everything was okay, and every once in a while, he'd move his fingers on House's knee in an almost rubbing motion, more because it felt natural to do so than because he wanted to test his friend's reaction.

Eventually, Wil began to squirm and reject the nipple, whimpering slightly.

"Think he's done," House said quietly, his voice sounding oddly hoarse for some reason. Wilson nodded, even though House wasn't looking at him, and reached over to take the bottle and set it on the end table. Their fingers brushed again as the baby bottle was handed from one man to another, and this time they made eye contact an instant after the skin contact.

Vague thoughts of needing to burp Wil because there was no way House would consent to it floated away from Wilson's mind as he stared into the depths of the blueness. Usually, he tried not to get lost in his best friend's eyes for fear the other man would notice, but Wilson felt he had no control over it this time. They were still touching: Wilson's left hand on House's leg and both sets of fingers holding the bottle between them.

Wilson's only thoughts were that he had to be imagining the wanting in House's eyes; he must be misinterpreting that expression to suit his own desires...and yet House neither pulled away nor looked away. His lips were parted slightly and he was staring at Wilson with as much resolution as Wilson was staring at him. Was he moving closer? Wilson became aware of his own open-mouthed breathing and his increasing heart rate. House's face seemed just a bit closer now than it had been a moment ago...maybe a foot away instead of a foot and a half away. Was that because House had leaned in toward him? Or had Wilson himself done so without even being aware of it?

His fingers barely moved over the denim of House's jeans without him being entirely conscious of it, and he saw House swallow though neither man ceased staring at the other. Wilson thought about leaning even closer forward, close enough to feel House's hot breath on his cheek and his lips against his...

A sudden loud beeping jolted Wilson out of his daydream. In a flash he was on his feet, all contact with House broken. "Dinner!" he said, louder than he normally would have, and hurried into the kitchen to turn off the oven and the timer as though it would burn to a crisp if he left it in even a second longer. He quickly pulled on oven mitts and took out the roast and potatoes, setting the dishes on the countertop and cursing himself for forgetting about the food. He'd meant to make a salad, too. Wil had begun to cry, and Wilson hurried back over to the sofa to take him as soon as the food was set down and the oven turned off.

"House, could you make a quick salad, please?" he asked without looking at him, taking the baby and slinging the blanket over his shoulder for the inevitable spit-up that would accompany Wil's burp.

House didn't answer Wilson, but he picked up his cane and made his way into the kitchen, so Wilson hoped that meant yes. "I got some French bread at the store, too, if you want to cut it up," Wilson called into the kitchen as he patted Wil's back and began to take him to his room.

Once he was alone with just his baby, Wilson reflected on what had just happened. Five minutes ago, he had been closer to House than he could ever recall being. He'd come dangerously close to kissing him, and yet...House hadn't backed away. The more he thought about it, trying to look back on the moment objectively, now that it was over, the more convinced he became that the blue eyes he thought were so beautiful had reflected an equal amount of love and desire right back at him.

Could it be? Could House really want him that way?

Wilson shuddered excitedly at the thought. But how could he know for sure? Except for a discussion that would be awkward and embarrassing for both of them, the only way was to...to continue what he was doing. Keep up the touching, push the boundaries of what could be considered casual or incidental touching until...until House responded, either by returning his touch somehow, actually talking about it, or pushing him away.

That idea scared him. House hadn't rejected the hand on his knee, but he might reject anything further, and it would probably cause tension between them even if they never spoke about it. House might not want to spend time here anymore, afraid of another unwanted advance. What if Wilson took it too far and pushed his friend away?

But touching him before hadn't pushed him away—it had brought him closer, even convinced Wilson that he was seeing love in House's eyes.

Wilson decided to be cautious and take things slow, so he would be able to cease at the slightest indication of House's displeasure. But until that happened, he would continue finding ways to touch his friend. House's lack of a negative reaction today not only gave him wild hope for mutual feelings, it also aroused an intense curiosity about how continued advances would be received.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Just got back from a wedding 14 hours away from my house. Why does this affect you? Two 14-hour drives = lots of time = lots of writing = two new chapters of Wil = yay!

* * *

><p>"Where is he?" Mrs. Wilson demanded, releasing Wilson from the hug she'd engulfed him in the moment he'd opened the door.<p>

"Good to see you, too, Mom," Wilson said, exchanging a knowing look with his father as the older man carried his and his wife's suitcases into the condo.

"James," Wilson's mother said with extreme patience, putting an arm around his shoulders and walking further into the room with him. "You are my son and I love you dearly, but I've seen you a million times since the day you were born. Where is my grandson?"

"He's asleep in his bedroom," Wilson said, taking one of the suitcases from his dad. "Down the hall, second door on the left."

She was gone before he'd even finished his sentence. Wilson turned to his father. "Dad, are you sure you don't want to stay in a hotel?"

Mr. Wilson laughed, setting his suitcase down next to the sofa. "Me? You think I had any choice in the matter?" He sighed, smiling at his son. "Well, maybe we'll get lucky and she'll change her mind after he wakes us up a few times..."

"Oooh, there he is!" The two men heard Mrs. Wilson's voice from down the hall, higher-pitched than normal, and turned their heads in that direction. "There he is, little William! Oh, come to Grandma, Sweetie!"

Wilson and his father turned to each other again. "...but, I rather doubt it," the older Wilson completed his thought. They took their things into the master bedroom, which Wilson was sacrificing to his parents for the duration of their stay, and Mrs. Wilson appeared a moment later with the baby in her arms and a smile on her face.

"There he is," Mr. Wilson said, smiling at his wife and taking a few steps over to her to meet his grandson.

"James, he's just perfect," Mrs. Wilson said, and Wilson smiled with pride. "He looks exactly like you—I'm sure his hair will darken in time. Hello, Precious," she cooed to the infant. "Aren't you just the most darling little thing?" She touched his tiny nose with the tip of her finger. "Yes, you are." Then, she handed the baby to her husband so he could have a turn holding him, though Wilson was sure she'd want him back soon. She spent a moment lecturing him on how to hold him properly, and when she was satisfied, crossed the room to put her arm around Wilson and place a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you for naming him after my grandfather," she said softly. "I didn't get a chance to tell you over the phone, but...I really appreciate it. It's such a shame you never knew him—he was a wonderful man."

"Oh...yeah, I'm sure," Wilson said quickly. In truth, he'd entirely forgotten that his great-grandfather's name was William. It hadn't crossed his mind to name him after a member of the family other than himself. He'd chosen _William_ simply because he hadn't wanted to give up the name that House had chosen, and William made the most sense as something that _Wil_ could be short for. Wilson decided not to share the true origin of his son's name with his mother. It made her happy to think that he'd had her grandfather in mind when he chose the name, and letting her think so hurt no one. He smiled at his mother and kissed her cheek. "You always spoke so highly of him; I am sorry that I never got a chance to meet him."

"Well, when little William gets older, we'll be able to tell him all about his namesake," Mrs. Wilson smiled. Then she returned to her husband and grandson to hold the baby again.

—

Wilson quite enjoyed visiting with his parents. It had been a long time since he'd seen them, and it was nice to be able to relax and catch up. His mother had taken it upon herself to become Wil's personal caregiver, and though he was still young enough to spend the majority of his time sleeping, more of it was now done in his grandmother's arms or in the portable carrier that detached from the car seat, rather than secluded in the crib in his room. Wilson appreciated the break. Even though Wil hadn't been home that long yet and House had made things easier for Wilson than if he'd been completely alone, it was nice to know that if Wil cried, someone would take care to meet all his needs. Mrs. Wilson both prepared and administered the baby formula, rebuffing Wilson if he offered to do it himself (though he knew if he explained to her that he _wanted_ to feed his son, that he wasn't offering just so she wouldn't feel obligated, she would relent), and after three of her own sons, she had no problem with spit-up or diaper changes, either. After cleaning Wilson's already sterile sink, she also gave the baby a bath after his afternoon nap.

After a long day of more attention than he was accustomed to, Wil was sleeping contentedly in his carrier on the coffee table, babysat by his grandfather, who was watching golf. Wilson and his mother were in the kitchen making dinner, and Wilson was enjoying himself. Cooking and laughing with his mother brought back memories of when he was younger and she had taught him how to cook and bake. Being the middle child with two brothers that weren't exactly easy children, the fact that Wilson was the only one who shared his mother's love of kitchens gave him a way to stand out and to get her attention.

Just as they were finishing the cooking, House walked into the condo, dropping his backpack on the ground and heading straight for the fridge.

"Gregory!" Wilson's mother exclaimed with obvious delight, rushing over to embrace him while Wilson giggled at House's reaction. "James didn't tell us you were coming over," she said almost accusingly after she let go, turning back to her son.

"I wasn't entirely sure he was," Wilson smiled. He was genuinely pleased to see his best friend. House probably would not be staying overnight while his parents were here, but he was glad to know that their presence hadn't driven him away completely. "But we have enough food. Come on, Mom, let's get the table ready so we can eat."

Dinner was filled with chatter, mainly between Wilson and his mother. She talked plenty to House, but he seemed uncomfortable with her attention and kept his answers short, even though it did not diminish her enthusiasm. After they ate, the party moved to the living room, where Mrs. Wilson fed Wil with Wilson next to her, House watched TV, and Mr. Wilson read a newspaper.

"It's a shame you have to give him formula," Wilson's mother commented as she fed the baby. "That was so irresponsible of Samantha. She's a doctor—you'd think she would know the benefits of breast milk."

"She does know," Wilson said with a sigh. He'd already gone over the details of Sam's lack of desire to be part of her son's life with his mother several times, and he did not appreciate the fact that she kept bringing it up. "I told you, Mom. Sam doesn't like kids and she knows nothing about them. I think she'd be great if she gave it a chance, but she doesn't want to. Wil was a complete accident, and she somehow didn't fall in love with him. She didn't even want to see him after he was born."

"You poor little thing," Mrs. Wilson cooed to the baby as she fed him. "How could your mama not fall in love with you? Well, perhaps it's for the best," she said in her normal voice, looking at Wilson again. "I never did like her, James. She struck me as the type who always looked out for number one, and I never got the impression that she really loved you as much as you deserve to be loved."

Wilson wasn't quite sure what to say to that. He noticed House smirking out of the corner of his eye and wondered why, but said nothing.

"I just hope he'll be all right with no mother," Wilson's father commented. "It's lucky he's a boy and not a girl, but even so, a child should have a mother."

"He'll be fine," House piped up, causing the attention to go to him. "He's got Wilson, and he'll be much better off without Sam in his life than he would be with her. Ditching Wil was the best possible decision she could have made for him, and one of the very few things she's done that I actually respect."

No one said anything to that. House turned back to the TV, Wilson's father turned back to his newspaper, and his mother put the bottle down and lifted Wil to burp him. Wilson spent another moment watching his best friend before giving up and watching TV quietly.

Mrs. Wilson put Wil to bed soon after his evening feeding, and she and her husband turned in not long after that, leaving Wilson alone in his living room with House like he was so used to. When House got up to use the bathroom, Wilson cleared and moved the coffee table and pulled the couch out before going to the linen closet for his spare pillows and blankets.

"What did you do to my bed?" House demanded when he returned.

"What do you mean?" Wilson asked, looking at him. "If you prefer to sleep on it as a couch, that's fine, but I'd rather at least pretend it's an actual bed."

"So where am I supposed to sleep?" House asked, looking at him.

Wilson stared at House, surprised. "I didn't know you were sleeping over," he said.

"Oh," House said. "The fact that I've been sleeping over for the last three days didn't give you a hint? Or is this your subtle way of telling me to go home?"

"You would know if I wanted you to go home," Wilson said. "You wouldn't need to ask."

"So what are you going to do with me, then?"

Wilson smiled. "You're an adult, House. I think there's enough room on 'your bed' to still sleep on it if you wanted to. Opening it up like this more than doubles the size. So sleep wherever you want. Sleep here, go home...grab a blanket and sleep on the floor in Wil's room. It's up to you, House."

He turned away from his best friend, went into the second bathroom, and changed and brushed his teeth. When he returned to the living room and the pullout couch, House was gone. Wilson frowned, looking around. He'd given a clear invitation, bordering on flirtatious.

_I was wrong_, Wilson thought, feeling a sinking feeling in his chest as he turned off the lamp and climbed into the uncomfortable bed. Of course he'd been wrong. Of course House wasn't interested in sharing a bed with him, even if sharing a bed was all they would do. Feeling a combination of disappointed and ridiculous, Wilson decided not to hit on House anymore. It had been a stupid idea from the start. Probably, the only reason House hadn't pulled away from him yesterday was because he hadn't wanted to call attention to what had happened.

Wilson settled down in the covers and closed his eyes, berating himself for ever feeling hopeful that anything might happen between them. The disappointment wouldn't have hit so hard if he hadn't let himself believe that the impossible might actually happen.

Just as the thoughts of House were becoming vaguer and disappearing into nothingness, Wilson became aware of movement in the room. He was just awake enough to make the decision to squint open his eyes.

The light from the hallway just outlined a figure climbing into the other side of the bed.

"House?" Wilson said sleepily.

"No, it's Carmen Electra," House muttered, pulling the blanket over himself.

"I thought you left," Wilson admitted, propping himself on an elbow to look at his best friend.

"Thought wrong," House muttered.

Wilson watched him get settled in the bed for a moment, glad the darkness hid his smile as the warm feelings returned to his chest. Sleeping in the same bed didn't mean House felt the same way he did, he knew, but it was much more promising than him leaving would have been. All his reasons for wanting to pursue things with House, all the things he'd seen in his best friend that made him think House loved him returned in a rush of feelings and warmth. He thought about the way House had looked at him yesterday, the intensity in his eyes, and shivered at the memory. Maybe he didn't mean what it wanted it to, but it was something.


	9. Chapter 9

Wilson lay back down in bed, trying to relax. It was so odd to be laying in bed with House. Indeed, it was odd to be laying in bed with someone he'd never slept with. Odd to not be able to get close to the other person, hold him if he desired. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the thought of House just a couple of feet next to him made it challenging. He lay awake for a long time, and had the feeling that House wasn't asleep either, though he didn't look over to check.

After a time of flickering between the drowsiness of almost-sleep and the awareness of wishing he would fall asleep, Wilson got out of bed and went into the kitchen. Movement on the other side of the bed confirmed Wilson's suspicions that House had not slept either. He glanced back over his shoulder and caught House's eye, staring at him from the sofa bed. They looked at each other in silence for just a second before Wilson turned away, opening the refrigerator and taking out a fresh bottle. He set it on the counter and heated up some water before placing the bottle in it to warm. After squirting a bit on his wrist to test the temperature, he took the bottle into Wil's room.

The baby hadn't woken up yet, but it was about time for another feeding and since he was awake, he might as well feed him instead of waiting for him to start crying and wake everyone up. Wil fussed a bit when Wilson lifted him out of his crib, but he was soon content, sucking on his bottle while his father rocked him in the chair. Wilson smiled sleepily at the sight of his beautiful baby in his arms.

The next thing Wilson knew was a hand shaking his shoulder and a voice—House's voice—muttering "Wilson!"

Wilson opened his eyes to see his best friend leaning down and looking at him. For a moment, he couldn't figure out where he was, and then he realized he was in Wil's room, and remembered he'd been feeding him—but he couldn't remember anything after that.

"Wil!" Wilson said, springing up.

"Chill, Wilson," House said, stepping back at the suddenness with which Wilson stood up. "He's in his crib."

"I can't believe I fell asleep while I was feeding him!" Wilson said, frantic. "I could have dropped him! He could have fallen and hit his head!"

"But he didn't," House pointed out, looking at Wilson. The blue of his eyes, even in the dim light from the hall, was soothing to him.

Wilson nodded and walked over to the crib, reaching a hand in to stroke the side of his son's head and just make sure he was all right.

"Come on, Wilson," House said. "Go back to bed. You're tired. I'm going home."

"What?" Wilson said, turning and looking at him. "Why?"

"Because you can't sleep with me here."

They looked at each other again. "I'm not used to the sofa bed," Wilson said eventually, still looking at him. "Leaving won't help. Stay. Give it some more time. I'll get used to it eventually."

House looked at Wilson, and he got a prickling on the back of his neck as though his best friend were scrutinizing him. "Okay," House said, and after another second, Wilson turned around, and they both went back to the living room and got into the bed.

Wilson still couldn't sleep. He and House both knew that he'd been lying about the reason, and that the reason for the lie was because Wilson wanted House to stay. But House had stayed. He'd known that that was what Wilson wanted, and he'd stayed.

Still, Wilson wished it were easier to fall asleep. He rolled over in bed, squinted his eyes open for a second, and noticed House also facing him and looking at him. He was just as wide awake as Wilson was, and his eyes were wide open. As they looked at each other, Wilson wondered why House didn't look away, or roll over, or close his eyes. Why did he continue staring at him without breaking the contact? And then Wilson realized he was doing the same thing. He felt self-conscious, as though House could see into his soul, but didn't look away. House wasn't looking away either. Just as with the hand on his knee the other day, after a moment, Wilson was able to relax despite the situation. He fell asleep five minutes later without even realizing it.

The smell of coffee and pancakes woke Wilson up in the morning. House must have already left, and Wilson's mother was sitting in a living chair, Wil in her arms and a cup of coffee on the table next to her.

"What time is it?" Wilson asked, stretching and rubbing his face.

"Seven-thirty," she responded pleasantly. "I made breakfast for you."

"Thanks," Wilson responded, pushing the covers back and getting up. _Shit_, he thought. Wil's last feeding had been before midnight, and Wilson had meant to feed him again around three—or whenever Wil's cries woke him—but he'd fallen asleep and hadn't woken up. He wondered why Wil hadn't woken, and worried about it. The baby was gaining weight as he should, but he shouldn't be sleeping through the night yet without waking to eat.

Wilson told himself not to worry about it—not yet. He would eat enough today to make up for it, and Wilson would make sure he woke up every few hours tonight even if Wil didn't by himself. Wilson poured himself a cup of coffee and then went to the fridge for skim milk to add and, seeing only one bottle of formula left, made a mental note to mix more after breakfast. Then he paused and tried to count back. He'd last prepared formula before dinner last night, and he'd made five bottles, right? Eight o'clock, midnight, early morning, breakfast, and an extra batch to be on the safe side. His mother had fed Wil at eight and was feeding him now, and Wilson had fed him at midnight, so there should be two bottles left. There was only one. Had he only made four last night?

He tried to put it out of his mind as he served himself pancakes and added milk and sugar to his coffee, grabbing the newspaper his mother had left on the table. "Mom, did you feed Wil last night?" he asked when it continued to bother him.

"I fed him before I went to bed," she said, frowning, "but not in the middle of the night. I didn't even hear him cry during the night."

Wilson also frowned at the conundrum, but he was able to forget about it as he went about his day. He showered and dressed, changed Wil and packed a diaper bag for him, and then he and his parents took him for a walk to a nearby park so that the baby could get some fresh air and he could chat with his parents.

After lunch, Wilson took a nap to catch up on the sleep he'd missed the night before...and the whole week before.

The evening went much the same way it had yesterday, with Wilson and Mrs. Wilson cooking together and House coming home just before they ate. After dinner, they watched TV, read, and talked. Mrs. Wilson showed Mr. Wilson how to feed Wil, and took pictures of everyone holding him, even a reluctant House.

They went to bed a couple of hours before House and Wilson, and the latter was pleased that the former was staying again, even though it meant sharing the bed again. Fortunately, sleep was not as long in coming to him as it had been the night before, even though it did take longer than it usually took Wilson to fall asleep.

Wilson wasn't entirely sure what woke him—his first thought was the baby monitor next to head, but Wil was only murmuring and cooing, not crying. It had not been loud enough to wake up House beside him, though the older doctor was stirring in his sleep.

Another guess at what woke him was the fact that House had moved in his sleep. Specifically, House had moved to the other side of the bed. Wilson's side of the bed. His head was resting on Wilson's shoulder and his left arm had been flung across Wilson's chest.

Wilson could barely breathe. He was afraid of disturbing House, afraid of what would happen if he woke up. He could not resist running his hand over the arm across his chest. He kept his touch featherlight, but the contact brought goosebumps to his flesh. House murmured in his sleep, and Wilson held his breath and let go of him quickly. After a tense moment, he was relieved to hear House quiet down and his breathing go back to normal.

Once he was absolutely sure that House was asleep and wasn't going to wake up, he slowly and carefully lifted the arm from his chest and climbed out of the bed. After a quick look to check and make sure that House hadn't woken from the movement, he heated up a bottle and went to go feed Wil. To be on the safe side, he alternated between standing up in front of the crib and walking around as he fed the baby so he wouldn't fall asleep again. He changed Wil's diaper and then used the bathroom himself before going back to bed. There was barely enough room between House and the edge of the bed for Wilson to get in, but he managed it. Part of him wished he could pull House's arm back over himself, and the thought made his body tingle all over. He managed to leave House's arm where it lay, and tiredness helped him fall back asleep soon.

The next time Wilson woke up, there was no doubt as to the cause. Wil's cries sounded twofold in Wilson's ears: emitting from the monitor on the table as well as radiating down the hallway.

House must have woken up at the same time as Wilson. His arm had made its way over him again sometime during the night, and the first thing Wilson saw was him looking confused. He looked between them, at the arm on Wilson, and then said, "Oh," softly and pulled away.

Wilson wanted to say something, to tell House it was okay, that he'd just moved in his sleep...but that would imply that it was only okay _because_ House hadn't done it on purpose. Wilson wished it had been on purpose.

However, at the moment, he had more pressing matters, such as a crying baby to deal with. He got out of bed and, for the second time that night, went to go heat up the bottle. House got up, too; Wilson presumed it was to go to the bathroom. Therefore, he was surprised to see House bringing the baby down the hall and into the living room.

Though tired, Wilson smiled. He walked to the same living chair his mother had fed Wil in that morning, where House had just sat down. He handed his best friend the bottle and sat on the chair's armrest while House brought the bottle to Wil's mouth, at the correct angle this time.

"You can go to bed if you want," House muttered as Wil sucked the bottle greedily. "I'll do it right this time. And I'll even burp him and put him back when I'm done."

"That's okay," Wilson murmured. Adjusting himself more comfortably on the armrest, he ran a few fingers through Wil's hair. He wished he could do the same to House. He felt his love for his best friend well up inside him and wondered how he managed to keep it in. Watching House feed Wil only increased his love for him. The softer side, the gentler side, the side that showed how House could love another person, was not something he often showed to anyone, and Wilson felt privileged to see it. All the more so because it was _his_ son. House loved _his_ son. And, in some way, though not explicitly stated, it was a reflection that House loved him as well. Maybe it wasn't quite in the way Wilson wanted him to, but House did love him.

The fingers of House's right hand, the one cradling Wil, rubbed the baby's side gently as he fed him. House probably meant it to escape Wilson's notice, but it did not.

"Last night," Wilson said softly, watching Wil, "I didn't wake up for the 3 a.m. feeding. But this morning, I noticed that there was only one extra bottle in the fridge when there should have been two. You don't know anything about that, do you?"

"Yeah," House muttered. "I took it. I was still up around three last night."

"House," Wilson said, mock-exasperation in his voice, "If you were thirsty at three in the morning, there were tons of other things you could have had to drink other than Wil's formula."

House smirked, and Wilson grinned at the sight. "Thank you," he said quietly once the moment was over.

House just shrugged. "He needed to eat. I was up. There was no reason for you to get up, too."

"I guess there wasn't."

They sat in silence for a long time, the only sound that of Wil drinking his formula, or the rustle of his clothes and diaper if House shifted him.


	10. Chapter 10

Wilson had mixed feelings when his mother announced that she and her husband were returning home at the end of the week rather than staying for another week. On the one hand, Wilson was relieved. As much as he loved his parents, because they were mostly here to help with the baby, they were always around. Wilson had barely had any time alone all week, and that wasn't something he was used to. On the other hand, he would miss both their company and their help with his son. His mother had simply lavished attention on the baby, and it was nearly always her that fed him or changed his diaper during the day.

However, the main reason Wilson knew his happy feelings about his parents leaving outweighed his sad ones was because House had stopped spending the night, and Wilson was sure it was because there was nowhere else for him to stay except in Wilson's bed. The first night, Wilson knew House had gotten very little sleep—if he'd gotten any. And the second night...well...if Wilson had been in House's position, he'd probably be embarrassed enough about accidentally cuddling his best friend in his sleep that he'd want to bolt. The only thing was that Wilson didn't know (if the unintended spooning was the cause) if House was embarrassed about it because it was something he secretly wanted...or because it was something he definitely did not want.

Cuddling Wilson in his sleep did not mean that House had feelings for him—Wilson knew that. Lots of people moved in their sleep. It might have been his body seeking out warmth and latching onto the only thing there was. His half-conscious mind might have thought Wilson was Cuddy, and gone over to him for that reason. It hadn't been that long since their breakup and House was probably still used to another warm body in his bed.

Wilson was pretty sure the cuddling incident was the reason why House had stopped sleeping over. He still came over for dinner after work and didn't leave until late, and the two days that week that he'd had off of work, he'd spent the whole afternoon at Wilson's.

The last afternoon before their departure, Mrs. Wilson was in Wil's room to say goodbye to him while Mr. Wilson loaded their suitcases in a taxi.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay another week, Mom?" Wilson asked her as she held the baby close and kissed his forehead. It was pure politeness. Wilson missed House staying over and hoped desperately that he would resume doing so the moment they were gone again. He wanted this to happen as soon as possible.

"No, honey, that's all right," she said kindly, smiling at Wilson as she gently placed Wil back in his crib. "I need to show off the pictures to all my friends back in Delray Beach, and I can't very well do that from here, can I?"

Wilson smiled. "I suppose not. But it's been great having you here, Mom. You've been such a great help with Wil, I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

Wilson's mother laughed and gave Wilson a giant hug. "Oh, honey, you'll do just fine. Besides, you have Gregory to help you."

"I guess I do," Wilson agreed, smiling slightly. "But he's not here all the time."

"Oh, James," Mrs. Wilson said, shaking her head and almost sounding scolding this time. "Do you really think I'm that naïve?"

"What?" Wilson said, looking at her with confusion on his face.

"Sweetie," she said calmly, putting her hands on Wilson's shoulders. "I was up a few nights ago. I was on my way to the kitchen for a drink of water and I saw Gregory getting up to go feed William. He saw me and knew I saw him, and after that I know he's been leaving before you go to bed instead of staying. I think it's because I saw him and you didn't want me to know you were together–"

"–Whoa, Mom," Wilson interrupted. "We're not together. He just didn't have anywhere else to sleep," he said quickly.

"Honey, it's okay," Mrs. Wilson said. "Your father doesn't know, I figured you could tell him when you were ready. But that's one of the reasons why I've decided to stay just a week—it's not fair for Gregory to stay away on my account."

Wilson's mind was racing. He wondered if that was the real reason House had left—because he knew Wilson's mother knew about his staying over and was drawing the wrong conclusion from it. "Mom, I'm telling the truth," he said finally. "House has been staying over since Wil came home with me, but until you came over, he's been sleeping on the couch, not with me. Nothing...nothing has other happened between us."

Mrs. Wilson studied her son for a moment. She looked confused. "Honey, I...well, I'm sorry for presuming, I suppose, but...well...since you told me he broke up with Lisa and since he's been staying over, I thought you'd finally gotten together."

"No," Wilson muttered with embarrassment, not liking the sound of her 'finally.' "It's nothing like that, Mom."

Wilson's mother sighed. "James, are you really sure you don't feel that way? I know it's something new to you, but you're always so happy when you're with him and I think you'll find that you could be happy if you were with him in a–"

"–Mom," Wilson interrupted again, looking at her this time. "I...I don't know how you know about it, since I've never said a word to you, but I've recently admitted to myself that I _do_ feel that way. I...I can't believe I'm telling you this, but...since you seem to already know...nothing has happened, though," he said. "We're still just friends, that's all we've ever been."

"Well, James, I'm relieved to hear you've admitted it to yourself, but don't you think things might be more likely to progress if you told him how you felt?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Mom, I don't know if he feels the same way," Wilson said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at the floor. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation—let alone with his mother. He'd never breathed a word of his feelings for House to anyone before, and here his mother had known all along. He felt cheated, like a big secret had been kept from him and he'd been making a fool of himself by being the only one not knowing.

"Don't be ridiculous, James, Gregory's been in love with you for years."

"W-What?" Wilson said, stammering and taking a step back. "You can't...you don't know that," he said.

Mrs. Wilson rolled her eyes. "All right, perhaps I've never heard him specifically say it aloud, but I noticed a long time ago how he looked at you. It was the same way he used to look at that young woman he was seeing back when you married Bonnie. I saw the two of them dancing at your wedding and I couldn't help noticing, thinking that they were so much more in love than you and Bonnie were. I could tell just by the way he looked at her, and the way he held her when they danced. He looks at you just the same, James," she said, looking her son in the eye. "Maybe not to your face, maybe he doesn't let you notice...but he loves you. I get more and more certain of it every time I see you together."

"Are you coming, dear?" Wilson's father interrupted from the doorway, making Wilson jump. He hadn't heard him approaching.

Mrs. Wilson smiled. "Yes, honey, let's go." She bent down over Wil's crib to give him one last kiss, and then she hugged her son and kissed him on the cheek. "Remember what I said," she said softly, not loud enough for her husband to hear. "All I want is for you to be happy, James."

She pulled back just as her husband was also kissing their grandson goodbye. The two male Wilsons hugged, and the younger saw his parents to the doorway. Mr. Wilson refused his son's offer to pay for the cab fare, and then they were gone. And suddenly, Wilson was alone again. The house was quiet—or at least, it would be until Wil needed something, and Wilson did not have to entertain anyone. He could be alone with his thoughts and, especially after that last conversation with his mother, he had plenty to think about.

—

After Wilson's parents were gone, it felt almost like they'd never been there. House went directly back into his old routine of staying over nights—still on the couch—helping Wilson out with Wil more often than Wilson ever would have guessed before, and returning to his apartment in the morning to shower and change before going to work. On days when he didn't have work, he often stayed over at the condo as though he lived there, and Wilson was careful not to say or do anything to make House think he didn't want him there—because he did. The only complaint he had about the situation was that House had returned to sleeping in the living room. After the two nights they'd spent in bed together (particularly the second one), it felt like a step backward.

However, even after what his mother had told him, Wilson did not want to push him. He sort of knew what she was talking about—there had been definite times over the course of their friendship when House had given him looks or made comments that made him wonder...but he could just be misconstruing them. The fact that his mother had noticed the same things on the few occasions she'd been around was a bit of a boost to his confidence—but she was his mother and she might be almost as biased as Wilson himself was.

So instead of taking her advice and telling him straight out, Wilson cautiously proceeded with his...flirting. He found excuses to casually touch his best friend, often using Wil as a catalyst, more and more frequently and in more and more obvious ways.

House never reacted to the touches, at least not in any way Wilson could see. The fact that they weren't rebuffed was encouraging, especially at first, but House never made any moves of his own, never gave any indication that he was interested in Wilson touching him. He ignored it completely, and after awhile, Wilson began to wonder if that was House's version of rejection. He didn't expect House to talk about it, but some sort of acknowledgement would have been nice—it would have at least let Wilson know what to expect. Now, as it was, Wilson thought he might have to actually kiss House to get either a positive or negative reaction, but he wasn't ready to take it that far. If House had ever touched him back or given him some sort of sign that he was interested in this new aspect of their relationship, then he might be more willing. However, if House really only was ignoring him because he was afraid that openly rejecting Wilson would ruin their friendship, then a kiss certainly would.


	11. Chapter 11

Wilson shifted Wil's carrier to his right arm, lifting his left to knock on Cuddy's door.

"Come in," he heard her say, and she rose from her desk and smiled at him as he entered. "Hey," she greeted, coming over to look at the baby. "Look at him!" she said, lifting the 1-month-old from the carrier and holding him. "Look how big he's gotten!"

Wilson smiled. "Nine pounds, thirteen ounces. We just finished his 4-week checkup."

"That's great," she said, bouncing him a bit before handing him to his father. Then she sat down in one of the comfortable chairs near the door to her office, and Wilson sat down in front of her. "So, what can I help you with?" she asked, crossing her leg over her knee and smoothing her skirt.

"I've been thinking," Wilson said, putting Wil's pacifier back in his mouth. "I think I'd like to come back to work part-time."

"You still have eight weeks left of paternity leave," Cuddy reminded him, frowning. "Wil's still so young; you should be with him at home, you don't want to get a nanny before you have to."

"I know," Wilson said. "That's why I'm thinking part-time. I can do mostly administrative stuff and keep Wil in the office with me, and drop him off in the nursery or day care if I need to have a meeting or go see a patient."

"I suppose," Cuddy said, appearing to think hard. "If that's what you want, Wilson, of course you can come back part-time. But are you sure it will be okay to have him in the office with you? Whenever I've had to take Rachel to work, it's been nearly impossible to concentrate."

"I know it won't work out once he gets older and needs more attention, but he still sleeps a lot. I can leave him in his carrier most of the time, or even bring in one of those little playpens for him. But when we're at home, he only needs me if he needs something. The rest of the time he just sits in his carrier or lays on the blanket."

"That's fine, Wilson," she said. "And if you change your mind or want to cut down your hours, just let me know. How many hours a week do you think you'll want to work?"

They spent another twenty minutes discussing logistics, and then Wilson said goodbye and took Wil home, planning to start working again the following Monday. Although he knew that it wouldn't be easy to raise a newborn and work, Wilson was looking forward to coming back. He missed his job and his patients, and he wasn't used to just sitting home all day with nothing to do except keep the house clean and take care of the baby. Not that taking care of Wil was easy. There were still lots of times when he cried for no apparent reason, and Wilson didn't know how to get him to stop. Dragging himself out of bed several times in the middle of the night was difficult, too, even with House there to help take care of Wil, but he was getting used to it.

That afternoon, when they were sitting in the living room and Wilson told House of his plan, the diagnostician called him an idiot. "Raising a one-month-old isn't enough to fulfill your complex of needing to take care of things?" he asked.

Wilson just smiled, adjusting Wil in his arms. "You try staying home with a baby all day. You know I love him to death, but there are more exciting things."

"I would stay home with him all day, if Cuddy'd let me," House insisted.

"You'd have to change his diaper," Wilson pointed out.

House just shrugged. "It's less than I'd have to deal with in clinic. And I'd have a bigger screen TV to watch, and beer in the fridge..."

Wilson laughed. "Go ahead, House, ask her if you can take the remaining weeks of my paternity leave for me. Just see what she says."

House watched TV—and Wil—while Wilson made them both dinner.

"I'm going to give Wil a bath," Wilson announced after they finished eating and the kitchen was cleared up. "Help me." Wilson liked the active role House was taking in the baby's life, he loved the bond that was forming between the older man and the tiny infant, and he wanted to encourage interaction between his best friend and his son as much as possible. However, House was stubborn enough not to ask Wilson if he could help with Wil, and if Wilson asked House for help, House would refuse. _Telling_ him to help was the only way to get it to happen, and the only way everyone got what they wanted.

House grumbled a complaint as he pushed himself up off the couch, but Wilson had seen enough of him with Wil to know that it was an act. He gathered the little plastic tub that fit perfectly in his sink, the yellow towel with the hood that looked like a duck, clean clothes and a fresh diaper, a washcloth, and the Johnson & Johnson's. House gathered the baby.

Wilson met his best friend in the kitchen and told House to undress Wil and wrap him in the towel while he prepared the little tub. He turned on the tap and kept a hand underneath the flow to make sure it was warm enough that Wil wouldn't get chilled—but cool enough that he wouldn't get burned. When the water was deep enough and the right temperature, he took a step back. "Okay, House, it's ready for him," he said.

House gave Wilson a quizzical look, but he stepped forward and gently placed the baby in the tub.

"Here," Wilson said, handing House the soap and the washcloth.

"I thought I was the one helping you, not the other way around," House commented. However, he squeezed some soap onto the washcloth and began to rub it over Wil's body. "Hold him, he's slippery and I don't want his head to go under," House said.

The little washtub was designed specifically to prevent that from happening, but Wilson would rather be overcautious than undercautious, and he took a step closer, half behind House, half next to him. He reached his right hand around and held Wil's upper back, neck, and little shoulders for extra support while House rubbed the tiny body with the soapy cloth. Their hands brushed underwater a couple of times, probably on accident, but Wilson noticed every time. He was also aware of how close together they were standing. Wilson was watching the baby over House's shoulder, and his chin was only inches from it. Another half-step and his chest would touch House's back with every breath. He could see House's pulse moving in the side of his neck, and wondered how it would feel to press his lips to that neck, to suck on the pulse point, feel the rough stubble beneath his lips.

Wilson's body shuddered involuntarily. He could do it. He was close enough. House wouldn't have time to stop him. Though Wilson knew he wouldn't actually kiss House—not now—he imagined himself doing so. The back of his mind called himself pathetic for fantasizing about this when their closeness was caused purely by the fact that they were bathing a baby, but Wilson couldn't help himself. He imagined taking another step forward and pressing his entire body to House's back, holding House's waist with his free hand as he pressed kisses to that neck...he imagined House arching back into him and looking at him with those eyes...with desire, the desire Wilson sometimes swore he saw in the depths of his best friend's eyes.

As Wilson thought about this, exerting all his self-control to keep his body from responding in a way that would make it very clear what he was thinking about, he couldn't help but notice that he had nothing whatsoever to do with his left hand, which really was only inches from House's waist. Would House say or do anything if Wilson rested his hand on his waist? After his reactions—or lack thereof—to every other time Wilson touched him, he doubted it. Like with the hand on his knee, Wilson was close enough for the touch to be casual, almost accidental, and he slowly migrated his hand until it rested on the fabric of House's button-down shirt.

Like Wilson predicted, House didn't do anything. For all Wilson knew, he didn't even notice the touch. But it felt natural to Wilson—he even felt steadier with a free hand on something as sturdy as House's side, considering his other hand was reaching around to hold a baby he could hardly see. House just continued washing Wil, trading the washcloth for some cotton balls to swab the baby's face. Wil fussed a bit at that, but he calmed down again once House stopped, rinsing the soap off him instead. Wilson rubbed Wil's back with one hand and House's side with the other as the older man finished and picked the baby up, wrapping him in the yellow towel to dry off before setting him down on the counter and diapering and dressing him.

Wilson was mildly surprised that House didn't try handing Wil back to him to get dressed, but it pleased him not only because House was helping, but because changing Wil would require both his hands, and with House taking care of it, he could keep the contact between them for even longer. Eventually, though, they had to break it. House turned around where he stood, causing Wilson's hand to slide across his lower back and rest on the other side of his waist while they faced each other with the infant between them.

"He's clean," House said, looking into Wilson's eyes as he spoke the words. Wilson decided he must be imagining the sparkle of interest he saw in them.

"Yeah," he said, remembering House had spoken to him. His brain caught up with the conversation. "You did a good job, House. He barely complained at all."

"He's a good kid," House said, breaking eye contact for just a moment to shift the baby in his arms. "He doesn't mind when you bathe him either."

Wilson smiled. "I'm sure, before we know it, he'll find plenty of things to complain about."

For some reason, House smiled back. It was only for a second, and then his expression returned to normal, but Wilson saw it. Wil jerked his little arms and yawned, and Wilson sighed. Time to stop standing in the middle of the kitchen touching his best friend for no reason.

"I'd better put him down for his nap," Wilson sighed, resignation in his voice. He let go of House and held his arms out for the baby. House nodded and handed him to him, and Wilson took Wil into his best friend's old bedroom.


	12. Chapter 12

Wilson smiled at his patient as she exited the exam room. House could complain about clinic all he wanted, and maybe Wilson would prefer working with his specialty, but it really wasn't that bad. Most clinic patients were just nice people who needed help with something. It wasn't fair to expect them to know what the solutions to their medical dilemmas were—they weren't doctors. And not all of their problems were self-created, even if some were. Especially now that Wilson was doing more paperwork than doctoring work, it was nice to be able to get out of the little office and see some actual patients, even if they were only his patients for one day.

"Wilson, there you are," Cuddy's voice said from the other side of the clinic as she clacked over to him, and Wilson looked up to smile at her.

"Hi, Cuddy, what's up?" he said, giving the nurse his previous patient's chart before turning to his boss.

"I just thought you should know," she said. "House has Wil."

Wilson's brow furrowed as he frowned at her in confusion. Of course House had Wil—the diagnostician didn't have any patients right now and Wilson had asked him to watch him while he went down to clinic. It was better than putting him in the hospital's daycare with ten other children and an underpaid worker. He knew House didn't mind even if he put up a front, and he would know to find Wilson if there was a problem. What Wilson didn't understand was why Cuddy looked so surprised and alarmed by the news.

"I know," Wilson said. "I gave him to him to babysit so I could work clinic. Why are you telling me? Is something wrong?"

"No," Cuddy said, staring at Wilson. "I'm just surprised, I guess. How did you get him to agree? I had to jump through hoops to get him to babysit Rachel."

Wilson shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I just put his carrier on the table and told him I was doing clinic, I'd be back in a couple of hours. I don't think he minds; he's really taken to Wil. He's good with him."

"Oh," Cuddy said, still sounding surprised. "Has he been spending a lot of time over there?"

Wilson nodded and smiled. "I guess I understand why you're so skeptical—I think House himself is surprised by how much he likes Wil, but he really does. Ever since he's been born, House has been over all the time. Honestly...it's like having a second parent," he admitted.

Cuddy frowned and Wilson thought he detected hurt in her eyes. It was understandable—House must not have been quite the same with Rachel, though Wilson knew he had spent some time with the little girl. He remembered Cuddy complaining that he'd gotten the child hooked on some crude pirate show, so there must have been some sort of a bond between them. But maybe he just didn't love her the way he loved Wil. Maybe he didn't love Cuddy the same way he loved Wilson.

Wilson smiled to himself. _You wish_, he thought.

"All right," Cuddy said, sighing. "Well, I just thought you should know that House had your baby, but since you already knew, I guess that's all right. Just...do me a favor and make sure you only let him watch Wil when you're busy." She gave him a wry smile. "I can see him trying to get out of his own clinic hours by claiming he's busy babysitting."

Wilson nodded agreement and turned back to the nurse for his next patient file.

—

"What are you looking at?" Wilson asked, walking up to his boss. It was about three weeks after Wilson had started working again, and he was on his way to House's office to pick up Wil and head home. Even though his schedule didn't result in House spending time babysitting Wil every day, the arrangement worked out well when Wilson needed it. House had even found a way around changing Wil's diapers—one time Wilson had passed by the office and noticed a disgruntled-looking Taub changing his baby.

Since it had been going on for some time, Wilson assumed that Cuddy was used to the idea of House babysitting, even after her initial surprise. Now, however, she was standing in front of House's office, peeking through the partly-closed blinds at...something.

Cuddy took a step back and turned to Wilson, shaking her head. "I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. Wilson, what did you do to him?"

Wilson stepped forward to look through where the blinds were not fully closed, and a smile took over his face. House was lying in his Eames chair, either asleep or resting. Fast asleep with his little head on House's chest was Wil, his pacifier in his mouth. One of House's arms was wrapped around the baby to keep him from falling off. Wilson quickly took his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture.

"Wilson, getting House to babysit your kid is one thing, but..." She turned back to the office.

"I don't know," Wilson said, still smiling because he couldn't help it. "Something about Wil...he loves my son, Cuddy, I'm sure of it. I don't know what it is about that baby, but something about him brings out another side of House. A gentler, more loving side."

Cuddy snorted. "I didn't know he had a gentle, loving side."

"How can you say that? You're the one who dated him for almost a year."

"And maybe if he'd shown it with me we'd still be together," she sighed.

For a moment, Wilson didn't say anything. They both looked into the office at the man and the baby. Wilson wondered if House was really asleep. Probably. If he'd been awake, he would know they were there, and he wouldn't still be napping with the baby like something out of a Hallmark card. Wilson knew that side of him was there, but it didn't mean he liked other people to know.

"I think he was afraid," Wilson said quietly. "Showing another side to you would make him more vulnerable, and it would hurt even more if you left him. Wil's just a baby. He's entirely dependent on House and me. He can't hurt him. House acts differently around Wil because he loves him—and because he has nothing to lose by doing so, and everything to gain."

"I've never seen him like this with my daughter," Cuddy pointed out. "She's three; what can she do to him?"

"I've seen him with Rachel; he wasn't always as guarded around her as he usually is. Maybe not to the extent he is with Wil—but think about it. If he thought you were going to break up eventually, he wouldn't want to risk loving her because he knew that when he lost you, he'd lose her, too."

"And there's no risk of that with you," Cuddy said.

Wilson nodded.

"But he can't always be close to you and Wil," Cuddy said. "Once your paternity leave ends, you'll have to either come back full-time or we'll have to rearrange your position in the department. If you do come back full-time, you won't be able to split up watching Wil between you and House, you'll have to get him a babysitter or enroll him in the daycare program. House won't see him as much, then, will he?"

Wilson thought for a moment. The idea that had been bouncing around in his head since he first told Cuddy about House's help with Wil brightened and presented itself. Wilson pushed it away. He didn't have time to think about it now.

"It depends," Wilson responded. "Since Wil was born, he's essentially moved himself back into my condo. Half the time I want help with Wil, I don't even have to ask for it. I've walked into Wil's room in the middle of the night and caught House holding him or talking to him. I meant what I said when I told you he was like a second parent, Cuddy. He treats Wil as though he were his own son. He even named him."

Cuddy turned to Wilson and spent a moment looking at him. Wilson held her gaze, but wondered what she was looking for. Eventually she looked away. "Well, I've got to get back to work," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow, Wilson."

"See you," Wilson muttered, feeling as though she'd left the conversation unfinished.

He smiled again as he pushed open House's office door and once again caught sight of his best friend asleep with his baby. For a moment he just stared, filling his eyes with the sight of his two favorite people in the world. He took another cell phone picture, just because he could, and decided not only to get a framed copy for his desk, but to sneak it onto House's Facebook somehow. He would send a copy to Blythe, too.

Wilson slowly and carefully stepped over to his friend and, though he hated to do it, reached down and scooped the baby up into his own arms.

House and Wil woke up about the same moment. Wil fussed and murmured until Wilson put the pacifier back into his mouth, and House looked around for a second as though he didn't quite realize where he was. "Oh," he said when he saw Wilson standing in front of him with the baby. It was the exact same 'Oh,' he'd mumbled when he'd woken up in the same bed as Wilson, with his arm inadvertently around him. Wilson wondered if it was a special sound he reserved for when he was caught in the act of cuddling with someone.

As Wilson took the baby to his carrier and got him strapped in, House picked his cane up off the floor and got up. "He was whining," House explained. "He wasn't hungry and his diaper was fine, but he wouldn't go to sleep, so I picked him up. He stopped crying, but he started again as soon as I put him back down, so I let him sit in the chair with me. It was the only way to get him to shut up," House explained.

"Sometimes babies cry for no other reason than because they want to be held," Wilson said. As though proving his point, Wil started bawling again.

"He's needy," House said.

Wilson laughed. "He's a baby. You can't expect him to be independent yet."

House didn't say anything. He walked over to Wilson and the carrier and picked up the pacifier—though Wilson doubted it would help, as the baby had rejected it only a moment ago. House stuck the piece of plastic and rubber into the little mouth. "Be quiet now," he commanded. "Your daddy can't drive you home if you're howling the whole way, and if he doesn't get home on time, he won't be able to have dinner ready by the time I get there."

Wilson watched as the giant brown eyes stared into the sparkling blue ones. Wil sucked on the pacifier for a moment and then closed his eyes.

"You're so good with him," Wilson said, shaking his head.

"He must have inherited something from you that gets him to do almost anything I want," House decided, moving his eyes from Wil's to their identical counterparts.

Wilson felt a slight flush in his face. Was House flirting with him? The way those eyes were looking at him...no. It couldn't be. Wilson looked away. "I should get home," he said. "It's probably almost time to feed Wil again, I'll need to do that before I start dinner. I'll see you tonight, House."

**A/N:** I've finished writing this, just 2 chapters to go after this one (14 in total). It turned out to be way longer than I thought, but I like how it turned out. I'll post the next 2 chapters a few days apart.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Okay, okay, you win. 15 chapters. But chapter 15 is only about half the size of the others, okay? Oh and I apologize in advance for how this particular chapter ends.

* * *

><p>Music—loud music—woke Wilson up. He squeezed his eyes open and rubbed them. <em>House<em>. It took Wilson a moment to comprehend that it was the organ playing, not the TV or stereo, but he knew his best friend would have been responsible either way. His alarm clock showed 4:17 and he wondered why he hadn't woken up for the feeding. Now that Wil was over two months old, he didn't need to feed as often in the middle of the night, but Wilson liked to make sure that he was fed at least once between bedtime and morning. The baby himself usually woke him up, but Wilson also had an alarm set for 3 a.m. just in case.

Wilson wandered down the hall into the living room, guessing that House had taken care of the feeding, but it still didn't explain why he hadn't heard Wil on the monitor—or his alarm. He saw House sitting at the organ, playing. Wil was asleep in the playpen in the middle of the living room. Wilson briefly wondered how the baby could sleep through the music, but once he thought about it, whatever song House was playing was more on the soothing side than the loud side. Maybe it had only seemed loud to Wilson because he hadn't expected it, but now that he actually took the time to listen...it was a very relaxing song and might even have soothed Wilson back to sleep if he'd given it the chance.

"What are you doing?" Wilson asked when there was a break in the song.

House stopped playing and turned around. He glanced at the baby in the playpen and a brief look of satisfaction crossed his face. "He's got good taste," House said, nodding at Wil.

"Thank you for serenading my son with your 4 a.m. symphony," Wilson said, rolling his eyes. "What's he doing out here, anyway?"

"After I fed him, he didn't go back to sleep," House explained. "I was helping. Look at him—he's asleep now."

"How did you know when to feed him? I didn't hear him over the monitor."

"He didn't cry, but I was already awake," House explained, getting up. "Your couch sucks."

Wilson could think of a very simple solution to that problem, but didn't say anything about that. "And I suppose you snuck into my bedroom and turned off my alarm."

"Yup," House confirmed. He leaned down over the side of Wil's playpen and slowly lifted the sleeping baby out. "I didn't want you to wake up for no reason."

"How considerate," Wilson commented. "I really appreciate the sentiment. Too bad you forgot about this kindness when you decided to start playing your organ in the middle of the night."

"How do you know it was that that woke you up?" House asked. "It put Wil right to sleep, and I was playing for at least 20 minutes before you came and disturbed us."

Wilson yawned. He was too tired to argue. Instead he followed House, who was carrying Wil, back to the baby's bedroom. He wasn't sure why he was going with; House certainly didn't need help putting the baby to bed. Maybe it was because he liked watching his best friend take care of his baby. When Wil woke both of them up in the middle of the night and House was the one to feed him or rock him back to sleep, Wilson often stayed up and observed even though he knew House was more than competent.

Wil woke up again during the walk down the hall, and House stopped just short of his crib, rocking him a bit so he would go back to sleep before House put him down. Wilson smiled to himself and stopped walking just behind House. He reached an arm around House to caress Wil's hair and the side of his face while his other hand found the side of House's waist, steadying himself. The position was becoming familiar to him, and comfortable. His right arm was pressed against House's and his chest was almost to House's back. He braved stepping just an inch closer and felt their bodies touch on his inhale.

They stood like that for several minutes, until the baby fell asleep again. When House leaned forward to put him into his crib, Wilson maintained the contact instead of letting go. He felt his heart pounding in his chest. Although he'd been finding ways to touch House frequently ever since Wil had been brought home, it usually only happened because both of them were also holding the baby. He'd used touching Wil as an excuse to touch House at the same time. If the infant was put down, the contact usually ended. But Wilson knew he wasn't getting anywhere. Two months and House still hadn't responded to him. There had been moments when Wilson came close to kissing House just for some sort of a reaction...but he'd always chickened out. But now he had to do something, dammit! He had to make it clear—because obviously it wasn't clear enough—that he was interested in House and needed to know, either way, what House thought of the idea. In the back of his mind, Wilson thought that if House rejected him, he could always pretend that it was his tired and sleep-deprived mind leading him to do things he wouldn't normally do. House would see through the excuse, he knew, but it would give both of them an out for things to return back to normal...if House didn't want what Wilson so desperately desired. And Wil...made him braver. House loved his son, he was sure of it. Would he sacrifice the child just because of an unwanted advance from his father?

House leaned back again now that Wil was in the crib, and Wilson pretended that he leaned back even further than he'd originally been standing as a positive response to his touch. He knew it was probably his imagination...but at any rate, House's back was touching his chest, and not just when he breathed. Wilson's right arm was still aligned with House's and his left hand was still on House's waist. But House wasn't walking away. He was staring down at the baby, not making any move to leave the bedroom or break the contact.

Wondering if House could feel his rapid heartbeat, Wilson slid his hand down House's arm to his stomach, winding his other arm forward at the same time until his hands joined. It didn't feel like much. It wasn't a kiss—Wilson just couldn't bring himself to go that far no matter how much he wanted to—but there was no mistaking his touch for something casual, and there was no excuse for what he was doing. He was standing behind House, chest to back, with his arms around him, holding him.

_Well, House?_ He thought. _Are you doing to do anything? Or just ignore me like you have been? You know exactly what I'm doing and you know there can only be one reason why I'd be doing it. You know. Now do something about it._

Wilson didn't know quite what he wanted House to do about it. He didn't want House to walk away because that could only mean rejection, but he was determined to stand here holding him until House did...something.

And then something did happen. House's hand moved from the bars of Wil's crib to grasp one of Wilson's.

For a second Wilson was sure it was over, sure House was going to pull his arms away from his body and end everything...but that wasn't what he did. Instead, his fingers weaved themselves through Wilson's. Just as there was no mistaking what Wilson was doing, there was no mistaking what House was. He was holding Wilson's hand.

Wilson exhaled suddenly, only noticing at that moment that he had been holding his breath, and House shuddered as the warm burst of air hit the back of his neck. Still terrified that he was somehow misinterpreting the response that House had _finally_ given him, Wilson leaned forward and rested his head on House's shoulder, vaguely registering how comfortable it felt. House's hand squeezed his in acknowledgement.

_Now what?_ He wondered. He suddenly wished they were in a different position—he wanted to see House's face, see his eyes. He wanted to kiss him but he still didn't know if it was okay. The only reaction he'd gotten was the taking of his hand, and while it was more of a response than he'd ever had in two months, it wasn't enough to know that House felt the same way. _We need to talk about this_, Wilson admitted to himself. He'd known it from the start, though he hadn't wanted to accept it. He and House didn't talk. They avoided talking. But he knew it was the only way to make sure they were on the same page. How should he start? Talking would be easier if they were looking at each other, if Wilson could at least see House's eyes and read his expression. But that would mean forfeiting the position they were in, letting go of the hold on his best friend that felt so precarious.

Wilson's idea flew to the forefront of his mind again. He'd been wondering how to bring that up too—he'd been trying to figure it out for the past month, since it first occurred to him. _What about now?_ He thought. It was as good a time as any. And he was sure that that conversation could segue into a conversation about their...relationship. And if there was going to be one. And if House said no to the first thing...Wilson could use what was happening between them to get him to change his mind. Maybe. It would definitely be a reason to talk about what was going on, and where they were going from here, if anywhere.

Wilson squeezed House's warm and firm body against his and took a deep breath.

"House, I've been thinking..."


	14. Chapter 14

"House, I've been thinking..."

"You might want to stop that," House suggested. Wilson could feel his thumb rubbing the side of his hand, and it encouraged him. "Nothing good ever comes of it."

Wilson ignored his best friend's words. House thought he knew where the conversation was going and wanted to avoid it, because that was what he did. "I had this idea awhile ago, when I was talking to Cuddy right after I started working again. After thinking long and hard about for the last few weeks, I made a decision. I know you're going to need some time to think about it too, so I don't expect an answer right away." Again, Wilson squeezed House's body to his, reveling in the closeness, and took another deep breath. "I want you to adopt Wil. I want you to become his legal guardian, along with me."

Wilson's heart pounded in his chest. He felt House let go of his hand and panicked slightly, but soon discovered House was only turning around to face him. The younger man kept his arms encircling his best friend because House did not make any indication that he objected to them. When House had finished turning around, they were close enough to kiss, but Wilson didn't. Even though he didn't expect an answer to his request yet, he was waiting for his best friend to say something.

"I don't need any time to think about it," House said, looking at Wilson in the dim light from the hallway and Wil's nightlight.

Wilson felt his face fall as the disappointment took over him. "House, please," he said, looking into his best friend's eyes. "Please just consider it. I'll respect your final decision, but I didn't want you to say no right away. Just think about it."

"I don't need to think about it," House repeated. "Yes, Wilson."

Wilson had already opened his mouth to argue further before his brain processed his best friend's words. He involuntarily took a step back, even though this resulted in his hands falling from around House, and took a moment to stare at him. "You...you're saying yes?" he asked. "Without even...House, it's what I want, but...it's not a good idea to make this decision without thinking about it."

"I already thought about it," House said. Wilson noticed him take a step forward, bringing their bodies close together again. "I didn't actually think you'd ever ask, but..." He turned his head down and to the side, and Wilson followed his glance to the sleeping baby in the crib. "I've known for...I'm saying yes, Wilson," he repeated, looking at his best friend again. "It's what you want and I'm agreeing. Don't argue."

Wilson nodded, feeling slightly shocked. He'd half-expected House to refuse right away but hoped he'd give it some time...a week, at the very least...to think about it, and then come to Wilson, hopefully with a yes but more likely with a no. He'd never expected House to agree right away.

"There is one condition, though," House said, taking another step forward so that they were in kissing distance.

"What?" Wilson asked. He thought he saw the hint of a smile on House's face, but the room was poorly lit, so he couldn't be sure.

"I can't sleep on your couch forever, Wilson," House said. "Even when I do get to sleep on that thing, I wake up a lot and my back hates it. I need a bed...preferably a king-size with a bathroom attached to the bedroom."

Wilson smiled. "I'm sure that can be arranged."

"Are you sure about that?" House asked. His eyes, even in the low lighting, glinted at Wilson. "This isn't something I'm going to want eventually. I'm agreeing to this tonight, so the new 'arrangement' will need to start tonight."

"I think it can," Wilson agreed. "In fact, there happens to be a bedroom just like the one you described right down the hall from here. It even..." he smiled suggestively and put his hands on House's waist again, thrilled when his best friend returned the gesture. "...comes with an additional feature."

"What's that?" House asked.

Now would be a good time to kiss him. Wilson knew it would. But he couldn't do it. All the signs were right that this was what House wanted. There wasn't any other way to interpret what he was asking for. And he'd responded to the touch, hadn't he? Finally. Why couldn't Wilson kiss him? "Me," he said instead, feeling his heart thumping as though even that was too much of a risk.

House scrutinized him for a minute before appearing to make a decision. Then he encircled Wilson's waist with his arms, in effect pulling him closer, and leaned forward. Wilson realized that House was going to kiss him a second before their lips touched, and his intense relief was forgotten the moment their mouths came into contact. He was too distracted by the sensations, the rush of excitement and overwhelming desire that accompanied the touch of lips on lips with this man. He clung to House, afraid to let go because he might lose this moment if he did. He pressed his lips against House's fervently and tried to communicate through them, to use body signals to say what he was too afraid to say with words.

Eventually House pulled back and looked at Wilson. It had been only a closed-mouth kiss, but it felt like it lasted a lot longer than it probably did. Wilson stared at his best friend and was surprised and pleased to see that House was smiling. Though it was still dark in Wil's room, Wilson's eyes had adjusted enough to the dim light by now to tell, and he smiled back.

"There," House said. "You were too scared to do it so I did it for you. Are you happy now?"

"Yes," Wilson admitted, smiling sheepishly. "But I had a reason to be scared. Two months and you never gave me anything back until tonight. How was I supposed to know?"

"Twenty years and you couldn't figure it out? Wilson, your mom knew, and she's met me...what? Three times?"

"I...had an idea..." Wilson murmured. "But I was never sure. And ever since I took Wil home I've hit on you more times than I can count, and it wasn't until tonight that you touched me back. What were you waiting for?"

"You to change your mind," House answered, not looking at him.

Realization hit Wilson like a train—it suddenly made sense. House hadn't responded to him for the same reason he hadn't opened himself up to Cuddy: it would make him vulnerable and open himself up to getting hurt. Wilson had a history of running away from House whenever things got too close between them, and House didn't want that to happen again. He wanted to wait for Wilson to come to him—any push back might result in pushing Wilson away.

"Why tonight then?" Wilson asked gently. House's arms were still around him, and his were holding House's waist. He moved his hands to House's back to hold him closer, and leaned to him while still supporting his weight himself.

House shrugged—Wilson felt it more than saw it. "It had been two months and you were still doing it. Maybe if it were that long and you were still interested, you wouldn't change your mind. And I thought you might give up if I didn't do something soon even though I encouraged you."

"Encouraged me?" Wilson asked, straightening himself up to look at House. "How?"

"It was always you that stopped it," House explained. "I never pulled away. And when I could, I...I made it so that it would be longer before you stopped."

Thinking about it, Wilson realized House was right. If he hadn't been interested, House would have found ways to end the contact sooner, to shorten the time that Wilson had an 'excuse' to touch him. Instead, House had ensured that contact between them was established for as long as reasonably possible...because he wanted it.

Wilson smiled and kissed House again, gentle and tender, taking the time to feel the lips beneath his, and feel his best friend's enthusiastic response. He wondered if their discussion had been enough, or if they should talk about it more. He was sure now that House wanted what he wanted and thought maybe no more needed to be said. He tried to put himself in House's shoes, see if House was as clear as he was.

"I'm not going to change my mind," Wilson decided to say when they pulled back from the kiss. "I know I've run away before, but that won't happen this time. I've already asked you to adopt Wil and you agreed...you've basically moved back in here and that's what I want...this is for real, House, and it's permanent. I love you," he said.

House looked at him and nodded. "Good," he said, and then kissed Wilson again.

It was only for a second that Wilson was disappointed House didn't say it back. He realized House didn't see things that way, didn't see saying it as the most important thing. He _showed_ it, by finally kissing and responding to Wilson. He showed it by the fact that he loved Wilson's son, which he showed more than Wilson could ever have predicted. And...if Wilson was lucky...he'd show it when they made their way from Wil's room into the master bedroom and made love. And maybe House would say it to him, in time. There had certainly been times in Wilson's life when he'd said the words to a woman only because she'd just said them to him and hadn't even meant it—though he found ways to convince himself he did. Wilson didn't want this to be the case with House because House was his only real love. He didn't want anything about their relationship to be forced or fake.

"We should probably move this to the other room," House murmured, his face still inches from Wilson's as they held each other close. "He could wake up any minute, and even for a baby I can't think of anything more traumatizing than watching your parents having sex."

Wilson felt warmth fill his body, as much at the fact that House referred to himself as Wil's parent as anything else. He kissed him again for just a moment before pulling back. "You're right."

"You'll notice that tends to happen."

Wilson smiled and let go of House—all but one of his hands—so they could go to their bedroom. He was surprised to see, as his alarm clock came into view, that it wasn't even five in the morning. He felt completely awake—and excited.

House closed the door behind them and locked it before joining Wilson on the bed. Not tearing his eyes from House, Wilson felt the anticipation building inside him as clothes were removed and hands glided over skin with featherlight touches. He wanted more than anything to kiss House again, needed it, couldn't stand how much time it was taking just to strip each other. At last, as their hands explored new, long-awaited territory, their lips came together once more as they fell into each other's arms.

After the new relationship was consummated and Wilson held House against him, he didn't think he'd ever been more at peace. He was happy and in love, they had finally made their feelings clear to each other and were holding each other, and he didn't want the moment ever to end.

So, of course, Wil started crying.

Wilson and House looked at each other and Wilson laughed, burying his head in House's chest and breathing in his scent. It was so different from what he was used to, so male. It turned him on like nothing else. "Oh well," Wilson sighed, his words slightly muffled by House's body being so close to his mouth. "At least he waited until we were finished."

"I wasn't finished," House disagreed, a glint in his eye as he leaned and kissed Wilson again. Wilson indulged him—and himself—for just a moment before pulling away, smiling at his lover, and getting up to go take care of the baby.


	15. Chapter 15

"Is what House is saying true?" Cuddy didn't bother with a preamble. She stood in front of Wilson's desk with her hands on her hips and was staring at him, looking highly suspicious.

Wilson repressed a smile. He hadn't been sure if she was going to believe them or not, and offered to be there when House told Cuddy, but he said he should do it by himself. Wilson could understand why. Even though the last few days had shown him, without a doubt, that House returned his feelings as much as and more than he'd ever imagined, he had still had something serious with Cuddy and still cared for her. Wilson knew that even though it hadn't worked out, Cuddy also still had feelings for House and would always be somewhat hurt and jealous to find out that House was in a relationship with someone else. The news should be delivered with some degree of sensitivity, and even House was capable of that when he needed to be.

"Will a simple 'yes' be enough?" Wilson asked. "Or am I going to need to find a more dramatic way of proving it to you?"

Cuddy sank into the chair in front of Wilson's desk and rested her elbows on her knees, palms to her forehead. "I don't know," she murmured. "I've always wondered, but I told myself that I was foolish for even thinking it. Then I'd wonder again."

"Are you okay?" Wilson asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know." Then she lifted her head and looked at Wilson. "All this time I've been asking myself why. When I see House with your baby I just...why him? Why him and not Rachel? I suppose he could have been worse with her than he was, but he was never as good with her as Lucas was. So I just wrote it off as him not being the paternal sort. I made excuses for him. Then I walk past his office and seeing him holding a baby—your baby—and I keep asking myself what's so special about Wil that House loves him but not my daughter. 'They're not even together,' kept flicking through my mind," she added wryly.

"We weren't," Wilson promised her. "We just...wanted to be. But that was for years, I think. Neither of us did anything about it. We were each too afraid of losing the other." He couldn't help smiling sadly. "It's not easy to change a 20-year status quo, no matter how much evidence you have that the other person wants the change as much as you do."

"You really think he's wanted it that long?" she asked. "What about when he was with me? Is that why he never gave himself to me completely? He secretly wanted you the whole time?" She was sounding angry now, looking at Wilson almost accusingly.

"I don't know," Wilson said. "I think he's been in love with me for a long time, but that doesn't mean he didn't want you. He's known you even longer than he's known me and I know you two have something. Maybe he could have been as happy with you as I hope he is with me, but I don't know. It's over now, anyway. You're the one who broke up with him," he reminded her.

"It's not like he gave me a choice," she murmured, looking away. Then she paused a moment and turned back to Wilson. "Do you really think it's going to last, you and him?"

Wilson didn't think she intended to sound condescending, probably more curious than anything else, but he couldn't help feeling defensive. "We've made it this far," he pointed out. "I know we fight sometimes, and I'm sure that will happen even with us being...together...but we've always managed to come back from it. It's not going to be easy, but I think if we try hard enough–"

"–You think he'll try harder for you than he did for me?" she asked.

Wilson sighed. "What do you want me to say, Cuddy? Do you want me to tell you he loves me more than you so you can get upset about that? You're allowed to be hurt—your ex moved on. It happens. If you really care about him, you should be happy that he's happy. That's what I did when you two got together—or at least I tried to."

She looked at him. He didn't know what else to say. He was feeling annoyed with her. This was about House, and she was making it about herself. She wasn't upset that she and House weren't together anymore—she was upset about losing the hold she had over him by being the woman he loved. Now that he loved someone else, she couldn't hurt him anymore, but she wanted to make herself into the victim. Wilson had seen House after the breakup; as much as he may love Wilson, losing Cuddy had been hard on him.

Cuddy got up from her chair and walked to Wilson's office door, turning back to him at the last minute. "I don't think you should be leaving Wil with House anymore if you're going to continue bringing him," she said coolly. "He's been paying more attention to your kid than to his work."

Wilson didn't bother pointing out that House had always found a way to avoid work, and Wilson had never given the baby to House when he'd been busy with a patient or had clinic hours. "Am I still allowed to bring him?" he asked, watching her reaction carefully.

"For now," she said. "As long long as he doesn't interfere with your work, which it doesn't seem like he has been. But I think he should stay with you or the daycare, not House. You're his father."

Wilson smiled. "Then, as long as he takes care of his patients and does his clinic hours, House should be able to watch him too."

"Just because he's your boyfriend now doesn't make him–"

"–He's adopting Wil," Wilson said, looking at her. "As soon as the paperwork goes through, he'll be a legal guardian and have as much right to my son as I do." Then he sighed and stood up, approaching his boss. "Look, Cuddy, I know you're upset about this right now. I know you're jealous. But...this...House and I...it's something you're going to have to get used to. We're not trying to hurt you, Cuddy. We just want to be happy."

She looked at Wilson, and then scoffed and walked out. She stopped just outside the door and turned to glare at something (or some_one_, and Wilson had a guess who) before continuing to the elevator.

Wilson followed her out of his office, but stopped past the entrance and turned to where House was standing, holding Wil.

"She took it well, then?" House said, handing the baby back to his biological father, who took him and adjusted him in his arms.

Wilson sighed, not otherwise answering the question.

House stepped closer, and then kissed Wilson briefly and gently on the side of the mouth. Wilson smiled. He wasn't yet used to casual displays of affection, especially from House, and the simple touch filled him up with warmth and love.

"She'll get over it," House said, sounding assured. "Eventually," he added.

"I think Wil makes it worse," Wilson said, looking down at their baby. "Not only does she feel like she's been replaced—she feels like you love me more because it's so obvious that you love Wil more."

"I didn't _replace_—I upgraded," House said, and Wilson couldn't help but laugh. "And I might have loved Rachel if I actually thought we could last," he said, more quietly. "Maybe after a couple of years or so, if we were still together, I could have grown to love her and even might have felt like her dad. But just think how much more it would have sucked for me if I'd lost not only one chick I love—but two."

Wilson nodded. "That had crossed my mind. Why Wil, though?" he asked, turning to his best friend. "You didn't know what I would do until later; for all you knew I would have kicked you out again and...I don't know, remarried Bonnie or something."

House chuckled softly. "No. Bonnie I would have succeeded in sabotaging. And I knew the risks with Wil," he said. He poked the baby's belly with his finger, and Wil grabbed it and held tight. "But I had no control over that," he said softly, almost to the point where Wilson couldn't hear him. He watched the soon-to-be father of his child and the child himself stare at each other. There was an intimacy there, he'd noticed it a long time ago.

Then House turned away from Wil and back to Wilson. "He has your eyes."


End file.
